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JEROME  B.  LANDFIELD 


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FIVE    RUSSIAN    PLAYS 
WITH    ONE   FROM    THE    UKRAINIAN 


Nicholas  Eyreinov. 

From  a  Portrait  by  N.  Kulbin. 


Frontispiece. 


FIVE  RUSSIAN  PLAYS 

WITH    ONE    FROM    THE 
UKRAINIAN 


TRANSLATED   FROM   THE   ORIGINALS 
WITH  AN   INTRODUCTION 

BV 

C.   E.   BECHUOFER /?cUriy 


NEW  YORK 

E.    P.    BUTTON    AND    COMPANY 

1916 


Printed  in  Great  Britain. 


(^\k  ^-^^^^^.^^  ■  Mp^ 


CONTENTS 


Translator's  Introduction        .        .        .       ix 

I.     A    Merry    Death,    a    Harlequinade,    by 

Nicholas  Evreinov         .        .        .        .        i 

11.     The  Beautiful  Despot,  the  Last  Act  of 

a  Drama,  by  Nicholas  Evreinov  .         .       35 

III.  The  Choice  of  a  Tutor,   by   Denis  von 

ViziN 79 

IV.  The  Wedding,  by  Anton  Chehov      .        .101 

V.     The  Jubilee,  by  Anton  Chi^hov        .        .127 

VI.     The     Babylonian     Captivity,     by     Lesya 

UkrAinka 153 


IVi^82505 


INTRODUCTION 

THE  plays  selected  for  translation  in  this 
volume  are,  for  the  most  part,  modern. 
Von  Vizin  alone  belongs  to  an  earlier  date,  that  of 
the  late  eighteenth  century.  Nevertheless  it  will 
be  found  that  they  have  this  in  common  :  they  are, 
while  still  Russian,  at  the  same  time  European. 
This  separation  of  artists  into  two  categories,  the 
national  and  the  European,  is  quite  simple  of  com- 
prehension. The  national  author,  often  the  favourite 
in  his  own  country  and  one  who  has  strengthened 
and  enriched  its  language  to  a  great  degree,  is 
nevertheless  hardly  to  be  appreciated  in  translation 
by  readers  of  other  European  countries.  Lomonosov, 
the  ''  father  of  the  Russian  language,"  poet,  pane- 
gyrist and  critic,  is  an  example ;  so  is  Dr.  Johnson. 
But  a  European  artist  can  be  appreciated  by  any 
foreign  reader  in  an  adequate  translation,  that  is,  a 
translation  approximating  to  what  the  author 
would  have  written  in  that  language. 

ix 


INTRODUCTION 


Von  Vizin,  the  first  real  Russian  dramatist,  comes 
in  the  rank  of  European  artists.  He  is  in  everything 
Russian ;  his  subject,  characters  and  treatment  are 
all  Russian,  but  his  plays  are  written  with  that 
"  briUiant  common-sense  "  which  may  be  regarded 
as  the  characteristic  of  the  European  artist.  It  is 
well  worth  pointing  out  how  his  work,  coming  to  an 
end  during  the  first  period  of  the  French  Revolution, 
approaches  in  spirit  the  work  of  the  other  authors 
in  this  book,  who  wrote  a  round  century  after  him. 
This  phenomenon  is  similar  to  much  that  can  be 
observed  not  only  in  Russian  art,  but  in  Russian 
politics  and  society. 

Denis  Ivanovich  Von  Vizin  (the  name  at  Pushkin's 
suggestion  was  Russianised  into  "  Von  vizin  "  during 
the  nineteenth  century)  was  descended  from  a 
German  prisoner  of  war.  He  was  bom  in  1745  and 
educated  at  first  by  his  father,  his  gratitude  to 
whom  he  showed  in  the  characters  of  Oldthought,  in 
The  Minor,  and  Flattemot,  in  The  Choice  of  a  Tutor. 
In  1760,  after  five  years  in  a  preparatory  school  he 
became  a  student  at  the  Moscow  University.  In 
the  next  year  he  published  a  book  of  translations  of 


INTRODUCTION  xi 

Holberg's  fables.  In  1762  he  joined  the  Imperial 
Guard,  but  this  Hfe  did  not  please  him  and  he  became 
a  translator  in  the  Foreign  Office.  In  1766  he 
finished  his  comedy  The  Brigadier ^  which  was  at 
once  greeted  as  "  our  first  comedy  of  manners.*' 
The  Minor,  written  in  a  similar  style  round  a 
character  resembling  Goldsmith's  Tony  Lumpkin, 
was  produced  in  1782.  Most  of  the  characteristics 
of  these  five-act  comedies  are  to  be  found  in  the 
little  farce  in  this  book.  The  Choice  of  a  Tutor,  writ- 
ten probably  in  1792,  the  year  of  Von  Vizin's  death. 
A  significant  event  in  his  life  is  that  in  1774  he  drew 
up  a  plan  of  a  constitution  for  Panin,  the  minister, 
whose  secretary  he  had  become  five  years  before,  to 
present  to  the  Emperor. 

This  constitution,  with  a  hundred  others,  had  to 
lie  aside  for  the  whole  of  the  nineteenth  century, 
while  the  poUtical  progress  of  Russia  was  at  a 
standstill.  It  is  usual  to  consider  this  the  fault  of 
autocratic  emperors,  but  perhaps  it  was  due  to 
the  horror  of  the  nation  at  the  apparition  of  Napoleon 
as  the  result  of  the  French  Revolution.  It  is  at 
least  the  characteristic  of  Russian  literature  after 


xii  INTRODUCTION 

the  first  quarter  of  the  nineteenth  century  that  it 
attempted  to  withdraw  from  the  course  of  European 
progress,  and  to  find  a  national  path  instead.  The 
marvellous  Dostoievsky  is  always  exotic  to  us,  so 
(in  a  less  degree,  as  his  genius  was  less)  is  Turgeniev, 
so  is  Ostrovsky  the  dramatist,  so  are  all  the  Russian 
authors  of  the  middle  and  later  nineteenth  century, 
until  Saltikov,  the  satirist,  and  Chehov.  Griboye- 
dov's  comedy  Woe  from  Wit  (1824),  recently  trans- 
lated into  English  under  the  title  "  The  Misfortune 
ot  Being  Clever,'*  was  the  last  of  the  early  Russo- 
European  masterpieces.  The  reader  feels  it  might 
have  been  written  less  than  twenty  years  ago ;  in 
the  strict  sense  of  literary  chronology,  it  actually 
was  written  twenty  years  ago. 

The  function  of  Anton  Pavlovich  Chehov — this 
transliteration  has  been  preferred  to  the  less  correct 
forms, ''  Tschekhoff,"  "  Tchekhof,"  "  Chekhof,"  etc. 
— has  been  to  pioneer  the  return  of  Russian  htera- 
ture  into  the  normal  path  of  European  civilization. 
He  was  born  in  i860,  at  Taganrog,  on  the  Sea  of 
Azov,  the  grandson  of  a  serf  and  the  son  of  a  grocer. 
He  was  taught  Greek  at  a  church  school  and  then 


INTRODUCTION  xiii 

went  to  the  local  classical  school.  His  father's  little 
shop  came  to  grief  and  the  whole  family  moved  to 
Moscow,  where  he  studied  medicine  at  the  University. 
He  started  writing,  often  forced  to  work  in  one  room 
with  his  parents  and  brothers  and  their  friends.  In 
1884  h^  qualified  as  a  doctor,  and  in  1886  pubHshed 
a  first  book  of  stories  that  had  already  appeared  in 
a  score  of  newspapers  and  reviews.  He  practised  as 
a  doctor  merely  on  occasion,  but  was  a  most  prolific 
writer  of  stories  and  plays,  in  which  the  influence  of 
French  literature,  especially  de  Maupassant,  con- 
flicted with  the  current  ultra-nationalism.  Some, 
in  fact  most,  of  his  work  is  simply  Russian,  for  ex- 
ample, The  Three  Sisters,  of  his  plays,  and  The  Duel, 
of  his  stories.  At  the  same  time  there  are  innumer- 
able short  stories  European  in  style  and,  among  his 
plays,  TheJWedding  and  The  Jubilee,  here  translated, 
show  the  best  quality  of  his  work  and  the  service  h^ 
was  rendering  Russian  literature.  His  life  was  cut 
short  by  consumption,  which  forced  him  to  leave 
the  intellectual  centres  of  the  north  for  the  warm, 
barbaric  Crimea.  In  1890,  however,  he  travelled  in 
Siberia  to  observe  the  conditions  of  the  political  and 


xiv  INTRODUCTION 

criminal  exiles.  A  complete  edition  of  his  works 
was  published  in  1903,  and  in  the  next  year  he  died 
quietly  at  Baden weiler  in  the  Black  Forest. 

Chehov  is  not  a  great  writer  ;  he  is  really  a  great 
journalist,  and  his  work  has  no  permanent  import- 
ance. A  French  critic  has  compared  his  work  with 
the  cinematograph,  he  himself  called  it  "  sweet 
lemonade."  It  was  not  vodka — there  lies  its  sig- 
nificance. He  was  an  embryo  European,  peculiarly 
of  France,  of  the  France  he  had  come  to  know  in 
his  profession  and  his  reading.  Now  that  he  had  led 
Russian  literature  out  of  its  purely  Russian  groove, 
the  natural  step  was  for  it  to  become  more  and  more 
European,  without  losing  its  national  impulse.  The 
decadence  of  such  modem  writers  as  Andreyev, 
Gorki,  and  Sologub  lies  in  their  refusal  to  recognise 
this  fact ;  they  continue  to  write  in  a  narrow  style, 
dwarfed  even  in  that  by  the  genius  of  their  fore- 
runners, uninspired  by  the  renaissance  of  European 
solidarity  that  the  war  has  revealed,  the  spirit  that 
Von  Vizin  had  and  Griboyedov. 

The  first  modem  Russian  author  to  work  in  the 
recovered  tradition  is  Nicholas  Evr^inov,  who  is 


INTRODUCTION  xv 

represented  in  this  book  by  his  own  favourite  plays 
A  Merry  Death  and  The  Beautiful  Despot.  He  is  still  a 
young  man,  being  born  on  February  13, 1879.  He  was 
educated  at  the  aristocratic  Imperial  School  of  Law, 
in  Petrograd,  and  afterwards  studied  music  under 
Rimsky-Korsakov.  The  present  translator  had  the 
pleasure  of  making  his  acquaintance  at  Petrograd  last 
year  and  was  given  several  volumes  of  his  collected 
plays  and  parodies.  Evreinov  has  not  only  an 
instinct  for  drama,  but  is  professionally  bound  to 
the  theatre,  for,  in  addition  to  his  plays,  he  is  the 
author  of  several  books  on  stage-craft.  What  this 
means  in  technique  will  be  seen  from  A  Merry 
Death,  a  masterpiece  both  of  drama  and  of  the 
theatre.  It  is  the  best  Russian  play  since  Woe  from 
Wit,  and,  so  European  is  it,  its  excellence  could 
be  reproduced  and  appreciated  in  any  country.  So 
far  as  the  more  recent  works  of  Evreinov  permit 
us  to  judge,  he  is  unlikely  to  excel  it  in  the  future. 

A  word  or  two  may  be  said  of  Larissa  Petrovna 
Kossatch  (1872-1913),  whose  pseudonym  is  "  Lesya 
Ukrdinka  " — "  Lesya  of  the  Ukraine."  The  same 
influence    that   is  visible   in   Chehov  and   ripe   in 


xvi  INTRODUCTION 

Evreinov  has  been  felt  also  in  the  newly  revived 
Ukrainian,  or  Little  Russian,  hterature.  Lesya 
Ukrainka  gave  it  a  depth  and  wealth  of  vocabulary 
it  sadly  needed  and,  by  introducing  the  European, 
has  countered  the  decadent  spirit  of  the  ultra- 
national  Ukrainians.  The  Babylonian  Captivity, 
translated  as  an  epilogue  to  this  volume,  represents 
the  enslavement  of  the  Ukraine  by  its  powerful 
neighbours  ;  but  its  style  is  a  victory. 


The  translator  is  indebted  to  the  Editor  of  The 
New  Age  for  permission  to  reprint  five  of  the  plays 
in  this  volume.  The  translation  of  The  Babylonian 
Captivity  from  the  Ukrainian  is  due  mainly  to  Miss 
Sophie  Volska,  of  Kiev.  The  translations  of 
Evreinov' s  two  plays,  by  the  way,  have  his 
authorisation.  In  them,  as  in  the  others,  stage 
directions  have  been  as  far  as  possible  omitted. 

C.    E.    BECHHOFER. 


A   MERRY   DEATH 

A    HARLEQUINADE 
By   NICHOLAS    EVREINOV 


CHARACTERS 

Harlequin  Columbine 

Pierrot  Doctor 

Death 

Scene :  Harlequins  House 


A   MERRY  DEATH 

{Harlequin  is  sleeping.  Pierrot  clumsily  chases  the 
flies  from  his  face,  then  turns  to  the  Audience.) 

Pierrot  :  Shhh  !  Quiet !  Take  your  seats  quietly 
and  try  to  talk  and  turn  in  your  seats  less.  Even 
if  an  ingenuous  friend  has  dragged  you  in  and 
yourselves  are  too  serious  to  be  interested  in  a 
harlequinade,  it's  quite  superfluous  to  hint  of  it 
to  the  public,  which  in  the  main  has  no  affair 
with  your  personal  tastes.  Besides,  Harlequin's 
asleep — you  see  him  !  Shh  !  I'll  explain  it  all  to 
you  afterwards.  But  don't  wake  him  up,  please  ! 
And  when  Columbine  comes  on,  don't  applaud 
her  like  mad,  just  in  order  to  show  your  neigh- 
bours that  you  know  her,  had  a  little  intrigue 
with  her,  and  can  appreciate  certain  talents.  I 
beg  and  entreat  you  1  It's  no  joke.  Harlequin's 
terribly  ill !  Just  think,  he's  been  raving  about 
my  Columbine,  although,  of  course,  there's 
nothing  in  common  between  him  and  my  Colum- 
bine ;  there  isn't,  because  Columbine's  my  wife, 
and  there's  an  end  of  it !    I  strongly  suspect  that 


A  MERRY  DEATH 


Harlequin  won't  live  till  to-morrow ;  a  fortune- 
teller told  him  that  the  day  he  sleeps  longer  than 
he  revels  he  will  die  exactly  at  midnight.  Look, 
it's  just  eight  o'clock  of  the  evening,  and  he's 
still  asleep  !  I'll  tell  you  even  more — I  know, 
perhaps  for  sure,  that  Harlequin  will  soon  die. 
But  what  decent  actor  will  tell  the  audience  the 
end  of  the  play  before  it  begins  ?  I'm  not  one  of 
those  who  give  away  the  management,  and  I 
thoroughly  understand  that  the  audience  goes  to 
the  theatre  not  for  any  idea  in  the  piece,  or 
masterly  dialogue,  but  simply  to  know  how  the 
play  ends,  and  all  the  same  I  can't  help  sighing 
and  weeping  in  my  long  sleeves  and  saying  (sobs)  : 
"  Poor,  poor  Harlequin,  who  ever  could  have 
thought  it  ?  "  I  used  to  like  him  very  much  ! 
He  was  my  first  friend  ;  though,  by  the  way,  this 
never  prevented  me  from  envying  him  a  little, 
because,  as  everybody  knows,  if  I'm  Pierrot,  it's 
only  because  I'm  not  a  successful  Harlequin. 
However,  I'm  not  as  simple  as  my  clothes,  and,  I 
assure  you,  I've  managed  already  to  go  for  a 
doctor,  although  it's  useless,  because  Harlequin 
can  die  quite  all  right  without  a  doctor ;  but — 
nice  people  always  do  it,  and  I'm  not  inferior  to 


A  MERRY  DEATH 


them  ;  for,  if  I  didn't  behave  hke  everybody  else, 
I  should  be  a  bold,  merry  Harlequin,  for  whom 
there  are  no  laws  ;  but  I — Fm  only  silly,  cowardly 
Pierrot,  whose  character,  by  the  way,  will  be  quite 
clear  to  you  in  the  further  course  of  the  drama,  if 
only  you  stop  till  the  end  of  the  performance  and 
don't  run  away  now  from  my  chatter.  So  I'll 
stop  it,  informing  you  only  of  the  following  plan 
which  came  into  my  head  entirely  without  out- 
side influence  :  if  Harlequin  is  fated  to  die  exactly 
at  midnight  by  this  clock,  then  won't  it  be  a 
comradely  service  on  my  part  to  put  back  the 
hands,  even  for — well,  only  two  hours  ?  I 
always  liked  taking  people  in  ;  but  when  it's  a 
matter  of  taking  in  death  and  Harlequin  at  the 
same  time,  and,  as  well,  for  the  harm  of  the  first 
and  the  good  of  the  second,  I  don't  think  you  can 
call  this  plan  anything  but  a  genius's.  Well,  to 
work  !  The  performance  begins  !  {Climbs  on  a 
stool  and,  stretching  over  the  bed  on  which  Harlequin 
is  sleeping^  puts  the  clock  back  two  hours.)     Poor, 

poor  Harle {Falls  down  on  the  floor.)    Poor 

Pierrot  !  {Rubs  his  back.  Harlequin,  waking, 
smiles,  pulls  Pierrot  towards  him  by  the  chin,  and 
tenderly  kisses  him.) 


A  MERRY  DEATH 


Pierrot  [naively)  :   I  seem  to  have  waked  you. 

Harlequin  :   Why  didn't  you  do  it  earher  ? 

Pierrot  :   What  for  ? 

Harlequin  :   My  hours  are  numbered. 

Pierrot  :   Rubbish  ! 

Harlequin  :  I  want  to  Hve  them. 

Pierrot  :  And  you  will. 

Harlequin  :  You  nearly  let  me  sleep  them  away. 

Pierrot  :  I  thought 

Harlequin  :  What's  the  time  ? 

Pierrot  :   Six. 

Harlequin  :  Only. 

Pierrot  :  Yes.    How  do  you  feel  ? 

Harlequin  :  Dying. 

Pierrot  :  You're  frightening  me.    {Weeps.) 

Harlequin  :   Stop  !     Why,  I'm  aUve  !    What  have 

you  done  ?    Isn't  my  clock  wrong  ? 
Pierrot  :   I  went  for  a  doctor.    Lie  down  quietly. 

I  must  take  your  temperature. 
Harlequin  :  For  a  doctor  ?    {Giggles.)    Well,  what 

of  it,  if  he  cures  me 

Pierrot  :    Lift  up  your  arm.     That's  the  way. 

(Applies  a  thermometer.)    Is  that  someone  coming  ? 

(The  thermometer  begins  to  burn.) 
Harlequin  :     It    shows    the    exact    temperature. 


A  MERRY  DEATH 


{Pierrot  takes  away  the  thermometer  and  puts  out 
the  flame.  Harlequin  jumps  up  and  circles  about 
snapping  his  fingers.)  Haha  1  Harlequin's  not 
dead  yet ! 

Pierrot  :   Only  a  thermometer  spoiled. 

Harlequin  :  Yes,  I've  not  long  to  live ;  but 
[taking  down  a  lute)  look,  how  many  strings  are 
broken  and  the  rest  are  frayed  !  But  does  that 
stop  me  playing  the  introduction  to  a  serenade  ? 
{Plays.    Steps  are  heard  to  the  left.) 

Pierrot  :  D'you  hear  ?  The  doctor  !  Stop  playing 
and  He  down  quickly.  It's  he.  I  can  tell  people 
at  once  by  their  step.  That  could  only  be  some- 
one hurrying  to  help  a  friend. 

Harlequin  {stops  playing  and  lies  down)  :  To  get 
money.    {A  knock.) 

Pierrot  :  Come  in  1 

Doctor  {in  huge  spectacles,  bald,  with  a  big  red  nose 
and  a  syringe  in  a  bag,  comes  in,  stops,  and  sings  to 
the  audience)  : 

You've  only  got  to  call  me  here. 
And  at  once  I'm  near,  at  once  I'm  near, 
At  once  I'm  off  to  the  invalid 
To  care  for  him  and  for  his  need. 


A  MERRY  DEATH 


My  medicines  I  vary  at 
The  rich  man's  house  and  proletariat ; 
But  there's  no  need  to  be  obscure, 
I  only  care,  but  do  not  cure. 

And  grind  the  poor  I  never  did, 

0  God  forbid,  O  God  forbid  ! 

For  wealth  from  him  who'd  scrape  any  ? 

You  take  his  only  ha'penny. 

My  medicines  I  vary  at 

The  rich  man's  house  and  proletariat ; 

But  there's  no  need  to  be  obscure, 

1  only  care  but  do  not  cure. 

Good-day,    my    dear    Harlequin.      What's    the 

matter  with  you  ? 
Harlequin  :  That's  for  you  to  judge. 
Doctor  :    You're  quite  right.     {In  Pierrot's  ear.) 

There's  never  any  need  to  contradict  a  patient. 

(To  Harlequin.)    Temperature  been  taken  ? 
Pierrot  {shaking  his  hand)  :   Don't  inquire  ! 
Doctor  :  How  do  you  feel  ? 
Harlequin  :  An  attack. 
Doctor  :  Of  coughing  ? 
Harlequin  :  Of  laughing. 


A  MERRY  DEATH 


Doctor  :  What  are  you  laughing  at  ? 
Harlequin  :   You  !    (Bursts  with  laughter.) 
Doctor  (to  Pierrot) :  He  doesn't  beUeve  in  medicine  ? 
Pierrot  :  No,  apparently  only  in  you. 
Doctor  :    What  a  curious  invalid  !     Your  pulse, 

please.     Oho,    I   can't   count   quickly   enough ! 

Show  your  tongue. 
Harlequin  :  To  whom  ? 
Doctor  :  To  me  ! 
Harlequin  :   Oh,  to  you  ?    Delighted  !    (Shows  his 

tongue.) 
Doctor  :  Thank  you. 

Harlequin  :   Please.    (Shows  his  tongue  again.) 
Doctor  :  Enough,  enough  ! 
Harlequin  :   Oh,  that's  quite  all  right !    (Shows  it 

again.) 
Doctor  :   I've  seen  it  already. 
Harlequin  :  Just  as  you  like.    (Puts  in  his  tongue.) 
Doctor  :  I've  got  to  listen  to  you. 
Harlequin  :  What  shall  I  talk  about  ? 
Doctor  :  No,  I  say  :   I've  got  to  listen  to  you. 
Harlequin  :   Well,  and  I  ask  you,  what  about  ? 
Doctor  :   You  don't  understand  me. 
Harlequin  :    You  ?     No,  no,  no,  never  !     People 

like  me  can  see  right  through  you  ;    but  people 


10  A  MERRY  DEATH 

like  you,  I'll  eat  my  hat,  can  never  understand 
people  like  me  ! 

Doctor  :  He's  raving.  Very  well !  Now,  allow  me 
to  lay  my  head  upon  your  heart !  It's  necessary 
in  order  to 

Harlequin  :  But  your  wife  isn't  jealous  ? 

Doctor  :  He's  got  a  strong  fever.  If  my  ears  aren't 
burned,  it'll  be  a  piece  of  luck.  Yes,  yes,  you're 
very  ill ;  but  let's  hope  you'll  soon  be  well.  (To 
Pierrot.)  There's  no  hope ;  the  machine  is 
spoiled.  (To  Harlequin.)  You'll  live  a  long  time 
yet.  (To  Pierrot.)  He'll  die  very  soon.  (To 
Harlequin.)  You  did  very  well  to  send  for  me. 
(To  Pierrot.)  You'd  better  have  sent  for  a 
coffin-maker.  (To  Harlequin.)  You've  a  healthy 
system.  (To  Pierrot.)  And  that  won't  help  him. 
(To  Harlequin.)  You've  only  got  to  be  cured. 
(To  Pierrot.)    And  that's  no  use. 

Harlequin  :  What  do  you  advise  me  ? 

Doctor  :  You  must  go  to  bed  early.  No  excite- 
ments. Drink  absolutely  nothing.  Don't  eat 
anything  sharp,  salt,  fat,  spiced,  bitter,  milky, 
over-cold,  over-hot,  very,  very  sweet,  or  very,  very 
filling.  Quiet  habits,  mustn't  get  roused.  Always 
mind  draughts.    Keep  quite  away  from  frivolity. 


A  MERRY  DEATH  ii 


Harlequin  :    Very  well ;    but  is  a  life  like  that 

worth  living  ? 
Doctor  :  That's  your  affair. 
Harlequin  :  What  illness  have  I  got  ? 
Doctor  :  Old  age. 

Harlequin  :  Why,  I  could  be  your  son  ! 
Doctor  :  You're  too  impudent  for  that.    Good-bye. 

{To    Pierrot.)      And    who    pays    for    the    visit  ? 

{Pierrot  nods  towards  Harlequin.) 
Doctor  {again  to  Harlequin)  :   Good-bye. 
Harlequin  :    Good-bye.     {Doctor   goes   out   unde- 
cidedly and  stops.)    Have  you  forgotten  anything  ? 
Doctor  :  Have  you  forgotten  anything  ? 
Harlequin  :  No,  nothing  ;  I  thoroughly  remember 

all  your  instructions.    Don't  be  uneasy. 
Doctor  :   No,  no  ;   I'm  not  uneasy  about  that. 
Harlequin  :  Then  about  what  ? 
Doctor  :  H'm.    Speaking  between  ourselves,  youVe 

forgotten  to  pay  me  for  my  visit. 
Harlequin  :   Impossible  !    How  curious  ! 
Doctor  :   But  please  don't  be  angry  with  me. 
Harlequin  :  Good  heavens,  no  ! 
Doctor  :  Then  good-bye. 
Harlequin  {shaking  his  hand  feelingly)  :  Good-bye, 

doctor,  good-bye. 


1^  A  MERRY  DEATH 

Doctor  :   H'm.    You're  just  as  forgetful  again. 
Harlequin  :     Yes,   yes.     There's   a   coincidence ! 

You're  quite  right.    It  would  be  impudent  of  me 

to  maintain  the  opposite. 
Doctor  :  Well,  there  you  are  ;  I'm  reminding  you. 
Harlequin  :   I'm  heartily  grateful. 
Doctor  :  There's  no  need  for  gratitude. 
Harlequin  :   No  !    Good  heavens  ! 
Doctor  :   And  so — my  fee  ? 
Harlequin  :    You'll  get  it  when  I  get  well,  when 

you've  cured  me. 
Doctor  :    Yes  ;    but  I  ought  to  tell  you  that  I 

reckon  to  cure  all  illnesses  except  the  incurable  ; 

but  yours 

Harlequin  :    Well,  then,  when  an  improvement 

comes,  when  your  advice  begins  to  work.     But 

then,   who   knows  ?      Perhaps   you   lied.      Why 

should  I  pay  then  ? 
Doctor  :    In  that  case  I  must  inform  you  that — 

that,  judging  from  the  condition  of  your  system, 

you  won't  live  even  till  to-morrow. 
Harlequin  {jumping  out  of  bed)  :   What !    In  that 

case,  why  the  devil  should  I  pay  ? 
Doctor  :   But  when  you  die,  who'll  pay  me  ? 
Harlequin  :  But  for  what,  let  me  ask  you  ? 


A  MERRY  DEATH  13 

Doctor  :  How,  for  what  ? 

Harlequin  :  If  I  actually  die  to-day,  then  what's 
the  use  of  your  art  that  can't  save  me  from 
death  ?  And  if  I  survive,  then  again  it's  no  use 
if  it  knows  less  than  an  ignorant  fortune-teller. 

Doctor  :   I  didn't  come  here  to  talk  philosophy. 

Harlequin  :   I  know  why  you  came. 

Doctor  :   No  insinuations,  if  you  please. 

Harlequin  :  He  calls  that  insinuations.  {Pulling 
out  a  purse  from  under  his  pillow.)  Here's  what 
you  came  for.  {Goes  to  the  door  and  holds  out  the 
money,) 

Doctor  {reaching  out)  :  Thank  you.  {Harlequin 
laughs,  and  runs  out  at  one  side  and  in  at  the  other, 
the  Doctor  after  him.  He  does  this  three  times,  and 
then  gives  the  Doctor  the  money.) 

Harlequin  :   What  do  you  say  to  my  playfulness  ? 

Doctor  :  You  know,  sir — here's  the  best  of  luck  in 
the  other  world — it's  the  first  time  I've  seen  a 
dying  man  hke  you.  What's  that  noise  you're 
making  ? 

Harlequin  :  That's  my  heart  beating.  {Noise  of  a 
steam-engine.) 

Doctor  :  And  that  ? 

Harlequin  :  My  breathing. 


14  A   MERRY  DEATH 

Doctor  :  And  you're  still  on  your  legs  ? 

Harlequin  :  Oh,  yes  !  And  I've  kept  fairly  merry, 
so  as  to  meet  boldly  the  death  I  desire. 

Doctor  :  Why  do  you  desire  it  ? 

Harlequin  :  Oh,  it's  just  coming  at  the  right 
time  !  The  man  that  lives  wisely  always  desires 
his  death. 

Doctor  :  You're  talking  in  riddles. 

Harlequin  :   Yes,  for  people  like  you.    (Laughs.) 

Doctor  :  How  do  you  know  ? 

Harlequin  :  If  you  like,  I'll  tell  you  how  you'll  die. 

Doctor  :  Interesting. 

Harlequin  {lies  on  bed  and  shivers  with  all  his  body, 
then  groans)  :  Oh  !  Ah  !  Ugh  !  I'm  still  so 
young.  I  haven't  been  able  to  live  yet  as  I  ought. 
Why  have  I  been  so  abstinent  all  my  life  ?  I've 
still  got  all  sorts  of  things  I  want  to  do.  Turn 
me  to  the  window.  I'm  not  tired  yet  of  looking 
at  the  world.  Help  !  I've  not  been  able  to  do 
half  I  wanted.  I  was  never  in  a  hurry  to  live 
because  I  always  forgot  about  death.  Help,  help  ! 
I  haven't  been  able  to  enjoy  myself  yet ;  I've 
always  kept  my  health,  my  strength,  and  my 
money  for  the  morrow.  I  filled  it  with  beautiful 
hopes,  and  it  rolled  on  like  a  snowball,  growing 


A  MERRY  DEATH  15 

bigger  and  bigger.  Has  that  morrow  rolled  for 
ever  beyond  the  bounds  of  the  possible  ?  It  has 
rolled  down  the  slope  of  my  mortal  wisdom. 
Oh  !  Ah !  Ugh  !  (Twists  for  the  last  time, 
extends,  and  dies.  The  Doctor  weeps.  Harlequin, 
with  a  laugh,  gets  up  and  applauds  himself.)  No  ! 
Not  so  dies  Harlequin  ! 

Doctor  [weeping)  :  What  must  I  do  ? 

Harlequin  [holds  out  his  hand)  :  For  the  advice, 
please.    I  take  in  advance. 

Doctor  :  How  much  ? 

Harlequin  :  As  much  as  you. 

Doctor  [gives  hack  his  fee)  :  Well  ? 

Harlequin  [with  importance)  :  Go  and  live.  Nothing 
else. 

Doctor  :  What  does  that  mean  ? 

Harlequin  :  Well,  if  you  don't  understand,  you're 
incurable.  I  tell  you,  go  and  live,  but  live,  not 
like  an  immortal,  but  like  a  man  that  may  die 
to-morrow. 

Doctor  [shakes  his  head  doubtfully)  :  H'm.  I'll  try 
it.    [Wipes  his  eyes.)    Good-bye,  Mr.  Harlequin. 

Harlequin  :  Good-bye,  Mr.  Doctor.  [Exit  Doctor, 
finger  on  brow.)  Well,  what  have  you  got  to  say 
of  it,  Pierrot  ? 


i6  A  MERRY  DEATH 

Pierrot  :   Nothing  good.    [It  grows  dark.) 

Harlequin  :  The  old  ape  imagined  I  don't  feel 
death  coming.  As  if  a  man,  sleeping  longer  than 
he  revels,  could  still  have  doubts  about  the  ap- 
proach of  death.  But  what's  the  time  ?  [The 
clock  shows  eight.)  Hasn't  the  clock  stopped  ? 
It  always  went  in  step  with  me,  but  now 

Pierrot  :   You're  too  nervous. 

Harlequin  :  We  can't  all  be  like  you. 

Pierrot  :  What  do  you  mean  ? 

Harlequin  :  You'll  soon  see.  Help  me  to  lay  the 
table  for  supper. 

Pierrot  (going  to  the  cupboard) :  With  great  pleasure. 

Harlequin  :   We  must  lay  for  three. 

Pierrot  :  Three  ? 

Harlequin  :  Yes. 

Pierrot  :   Whom's  the  third  for  ? 

Harlequin  :   For  Death. 

Pierrot  :   She'll  sit  down  with  us  ? 

Harlequin  :   If  you're  not  afraid  of  her. 

Pierrot  :  Two  glasses  are  enough  ;  I  won't  have 
supper  with  you. 

Harlequin  :  Come,  come  !  I  was  joking.  Death 
will  sup  on  me.  That's  sufficient  for  her.  But, 
all  the  same,  lay  for  three.    {Lights  the  lamp.) 


A  MERRY  DEATH  17 

Pierrot  :  But  whom's  the  third  for  ? 
Columbine's  voice  (sings)  : 

I  from  my  husband  unsuspected 
Steal  to  another  'neath  the  moon  ; 
When  desire's  interdicted, 
Doubly  'tis  desired  soon. 
Ah,  my  heart  is  trembling, 
Fainting,  beating  slow — 
If  my  spouse  should  see  me. 
Should  hearken,  and  should  know. 

Pierrot  :   What's  that  ?    Columbine's  voice  !    My 

wife's  voice  ! 
Harlequin  :   Now  you  know  whom  the  third  place 

is  for. 
Pierrot    (tragically)  :     A-ah  !      Traitor  !      A-ah  ! 

Demon  !    This  is  your  friendship  ! 
Harlequin  :    Be  calm.    Why,  nothing's  happened 

yet! 
Pierrot  :   It  only  wants  that ! 
Harlequin  :   And  if  I  were  to  say  that  it  doesn't 

even  want  that  ? 
Pierrot  :  And  you  dare  pretend  that  you  love  me  ! 
Harlequin  :   I  love  you  both.    But  you  want  it  to 

be  only  you,  and  so  you're  jealous. 
c 


i8  A  MERRY  DEATH 

Pierrot  :   You  know  very  well  how,  of  whom,  and 

why  I'm  jealous. 
Harlequin  :  Be  sensible.    If  you  love  me  and  love 

Columbine,  you  ought  to  be  happy  for  both  our 

sakes.    Besides,  you  know  we  both  love  you.    So 

what  is  there  to  be  sad  about  ?     Lay  a  third 

place. 
Pierrot  :    No,  I'm  not  so  simple.     Nice  people 

don't  behave  Hke  that,  and  there's  nothing  else 

left  for  me  than  to  revenge  myself  on  you. 
Harlequin  :  In  what  way  ? 
Pierrot  :  By  death. 
Harlequin  :     But  it'll  come   soon   anyhow — my 

hours   are   numbered.      Who   will   prevent   you 

afterwards  from  telling  everybody  that  it  was 

the  work  of  your  hands  ? 

Pierrot  :   Suppose 

Harlequin  :    Come,  what  is  there  to  talk  about ! 

Lay  a  third  place. 

Pierrot  (considering)  :   Yes,  but 

Harlequin  :  Come,  come.  Time's  precious.  [Pierrot 

fetches  the  plates  and  drops  them.)    Butterfingers  ! 

You  were  bound  to  smash  'em. 
Pierrot  (pathetically)  :   It's  not  for  you  to  reproach 

me  !    You've  destroyed  my  happiness. 


A  MERRY  DEATH  19 

Harlequin  {laying  the  third  place)  :  No  phrases, 
please  !  You've  been  cold  with  Columbine  for  a 
long  time,  and  you're  only  jealous  because  it's 
good  manners.    But,  shh  ! 

Columbine's  voice : 

Columbine  has  donned  her  mask 
And  is  clad  in  motley  gear,  O, 
Wants  to  see  her  Harlequin 
But's  afraid  of  meeting  Pierrot. 
Ah,  her  heart  is  trembling, 
Fainting,  beating  slow — 
If  her  spouse  should  see  her. 
Should  hearken,  and  should  know. 

Harlequin  :  I'm  going  to  meet  Columbine  ;  you 
look  after  the  lamp.    {Exit.) 

Pierrot  :  H'm.  Look  after  the  lamp  !  {Suddenly 
strikes  his  forehead.)  Wouldn't  it  be  better  to 
look  after  the  clock  ?  Well,  if  Harlequin's  death 
ought  to  be  the  work  of  my  hands,  very  well ! 
Ladies  and  gentlemen,  you  are  my  witnesses  !  I 
don't  leave  that  sort  of  things  unpunished — I'll 
put  the  hands  on  two  hours.  {Does  so.)  Ah  ! 
Harlequin,  evidently  no  one  can  escape  his  fate. 
Now  I'm  quite  calm  :   I'm  revenged.    Interesting 


20  A  MERRY  DEATH 

to  see  how  she'll  look  at  me.    This  way,  please, 

Madame  Traitress. 
Harlequin    [off)  :    Don't   be   afraid,   Columbine ! 

Go  in  fearlessly.    I've  persuaded  him,  and,  word 

of  honour,  he's  consented. 
Columbine  {enters)  :    Consented  ?  !     Here's  a  fine 

thing !      Consented !      What,    you    little    beast, 

that's  all  you  think  of  your  wife  !     You  don't 

care   if   she   betrays   you  ?      You    don't    care  ? 

Answer  !    [Beats  Pierrot.) 
Pierrot  (agonised)  :  But  listen.  Columbine. 
Columbine  :  What  ?    I  must  listen  to  you  ?    Listen 

to  the  worst  little  beast  of  a  husband  of  all  little 

beasts  of  husbands  ? 

Pierrot  :   But,  Columbine. 

Columbine  :  Blockhead  ! 

Pierrot  :  You  don't  let  me  utter  a  word. 

Columbine  [heats  him)  :    You've  got  no  excuse  ! 

And  I,  poor  thing,  married  a  little  beast  like  you  ! 

Gave  you  all  the  best  there  was  in  me  !    And  he 

can't  even  stand  up  for  my  conjugal  honour  ! 

Take  that,  and  that,  and  that,  you  good-for- 
nothing  ! 
Pierrot  :     But    that's    too    much !      Harlequin, 

protect  me. 


A  MERRY   DEATH  21 

Harlequin  :  This  is  your  own  business. 

Pierrot  :  Yes,  but,  dear  old  chap 

Harlequin  :  I  haven't  been  brought  up  to  interfere 
in  other  people's  private  matters. 

Columbine  (to  Pierrot)  :  There,  that's  how  you 
love  me  !  That's  how  jealous  you  are  of  me  ! 
Where  are  your  vows,  you  pagan  ? 

Pierrot  [coming  to  himself)  :  Oh,  to  Hell  with  this, 
I  never  heard  of  such  a  thing  !  Why,  you  im- 
pudent woman,  you  came  here  yourself  to  a 
rendezvous  and  yet  you  dare  say 

Columbine  :  That's  enough  !  Be  quiet !  I  know 
the  little  ways  of  rogues  like  you  :  when  you're 
found  out  you  start  to  find  fault  with  the  innocent, 
so  as  to  get  out  of  the  difficulty.  But  you  don't 
deceive  me,  you  good-for-nothing. 

Harlequin  {interposing)  :  Friends,  don't  let's 
waste  precious  time  !  When  supper's  waiting,  is 
it  worth  while  spoiling  one's  appetite  ? 

Columbine  and  Pierrot  :   But  it  is  irritating  ! 

Harlequin  :  I  don't  like  to  see  quarrels  starting. 

Columbine  and  Pierrot  :   It's  not  my  fault. 

Harlequin  :   Better  make  friends  ! 

Columbine  and  Pierrot  :   Not  for  anything. 

Harlequin  :   What  obstinacy  ! 


22  A  MERRY  DEATH 

Columbine  and  Pierrot  :    I've  been  wounded  in 

my  finest  feelings. 
Harlequin  :   Come,  enough. 
Columbine  and  Pierrot  :  No. 
Columbine  :  First  he  ought  to  be  punished. 
Harlequin  :   In  what  way  ? 
Columbine  :    Kiss  me.  Harlequin !     Dear,  sweet 

Harlequin. 
Harlequin  :    Not  to  offend  you  with  a  refusal — 

(kisses  her).     I  was  always  an  obliging  cavalier. 

(Kisses  her.)     Besides  that,   I've  got  a  tender 

heart.      (Kisses   her.)     Even   children   know  it. 

(Kisses  her.)    And  finally,  as  host — (kisses  her) — 

I  ought  to  be  polite  to  my  guests — (kisses  her) — 

especially    when    it    concerns — (kisses    her) — the 

fair  sex.    (Kisses  her.) 
Pierrot  :  Wretches  !    They  don't  suspect  that  I'm 

already  revenged  and  so  can  be  absolutely  calm. 
Columbine  (to  Harlequin)  :    Kiss  me  more  warmly, 

more  strongly,  more  painfully,  almost  biting  me, 

without  losing  breath.    (Is  kissed  as  she  desires.) 
Pierrot  :  They  imagine  they're  mortally  provoking 

me. 
Columbine    (to   Harlequin)  :     Once   more !      Once 

more  !    (To  Pierrot.)    Oh  !  you  unfeeling  log  ! 


A  MERRY  DEATH  23 

Pierrot  :  Please  do  what  you  like.  (To  Audience.) 
My  conscience  is  clean  ;  I  have  vindicated  mv 
honour  and  have  nothing  to  worry  about. 

Columbine  [to  Harlequin)  :  Kiss  my  eyes,  my  fore- 
head, my  cheeks,  my  chin,  my  temples.  (Harle- 
quin does  not  wait  to  be  asked  a  second  time.) 

Pierrot  (to  Audience)  :  Gentlemen,  you  are  wit- 
nesses that  I've  taken  my  revenge. 

Columbine  (to  Harlequin)  :  Kiss  my  neck  where 
the  hair  ends  and  where  a  sweet  shivering  comes 
from  your  kisses. 

Pierrot  :  I  don't  care.  Let  them  do  as  they  want. 
I  have  fulfilled  the  duty  of  an  affronted  husband 
and  never  felt  better  in  my  life. 

Columbine  (stamping  at  Pierrot)  :  There,  you  brute  ! 
Is  all  this  nothing  to  you  ? 

Pierrot  (to  Audience)  :  I'm  wearing  them  out  with 
my  nonchalance. 

Columbine  (to  Harlequin)  :  Well,  shall  we  celebrate 
our  Dance  of  Love,  in  spite  of  him. 

Harlequin  :   I  don't  dare  refuse  you,  but 

Columbine  :  What  ''  but  "  ? 

Harlequin  :  But  if  Pierrot  isn't  such  a  lover  of 
dancing  as  to  forget  everything  in  the  world  ! 

Pierrot  :   Please,  don't  mind  me  ?    (To  Audience.) 


24  A  MERRY  DEATH 

I'm   revenged   for   everything   in    advance   and 

needn't  be  disturbed,  whatever  happens. 
Harlequin  (giving  him  the  lute)  :    Perhaps  youll 

accompany  us  ? 
Columbine  :  Of  course  !    Is  he  to  do  nothing  ? 
Pierrot  :    With  the  greatest  pleasure,  if  it  helps 

you.     {To  Audience.)     I  hope  you  understand 

what  a  matter  of  indifference  this  is  to  a  husband 

who  can  vindicate  his  wounded  honour. 
Columbine  :  Play ! 
Pierrot  {to  Audience)  :    Lord,  how  easy  you  are, 

when  you're  revenged,  and  nobody  has  any  right 

to    laugh    at    you.      {Plays   vigorously.     Dance. 

Suddenly  Harlequin  falls  in  a  faint  on  the  bed. 

Pierrot  stops  playing.) 
Columbine  :    What's  happened  to  you  ?     What's 

the  matter  ? 
Harlequin  {holding  his  heart)  :  No — it's  nothing,  a 

trifle.    {His  heart  beats  like  a  sledge-hammer,  and  he 

breathes  like  an  engine.) 
Columbine  :    How  furiously  your  heart's  beating  ! 

What  terrible  breathing  ! 
Pierrot  {to  Audience,  joyfully)  :  Harlequin's  giving 

in.     Harlequin's  weakening.     Rejoice  with  me, 

poor  husbands — you  whose  wives  are  in  danger  ! 


A  MERRY  DEATH  25 

Columbine  (to  Harlequin)  :  Nothing  like  this  has 
ever  happened  to  you  before. 

Pierrot  [to  Audience)  :  By  the  way,  don't  be  angry 
with  me,  because,  after  all,  Harlequin's  my  friend, 
and  there's  an  end  of  it.  I'm  not  going  to  quarrel 
with  him,  indeed,  for  a  harlot !  And  if  he's  more 
to  Columbine's  taste  than  I,  he's  not  to  blame, 
but  Columbine,  for  having  such  bad  taste.  By 
the  way,  I  said  this  from  envy.    {Reflects,) 

Harlequin  {stands  up  and  smiles,  and  kisses 
Columbine)  :  Come,  did  I  frighten  you  ?  Well, 
forgive  me.  {Looks  at  the  clock,  which  is  nearing 
twelve.)    Soon  you'll  know  the  real  reason. 

Columbine  :   What's  the  matter  ? 

Harlequin  :  Let's  sit  down  to  supper.  The  dance 
woke  up  my  appetite,  and  I  feel  magnificent. 
(They  sit  down  and  eat  and  drink.) 

Columbine  :   What  are  you  hiding  from  me  ? 

Harlequin  :  Come,  drink.  Columbine,  drink ! 
When  there's  good  wine  on  the  table,  there's  no 
need  to  worry  about  anything.    (Kisses  her.) 

Pierrot  (to  Audience)  :  O  Lord,  I'm  undergoing 
incredible  pangs  of  conscience.  To  think  only  of 
the  harm  I've  caused  Harlequin  !  And  what 
for  ?    What  for  ?    I  can't  swallow  a  thing,  and  I 


26  A  MERRY  DEATH 

don't  know  how  to  look  at  Harlequin  !  I'd 
willingly  confess  my  wicked  crime  to  him  now  ! 
But  alas  !  I  can't  do  it,  because  what  would  my 
revenge  come  to  then  ?  And  I  can't  go  without 
revenging  myself.  I'm  a  deceived  husband,  and 
ought  to  revenge  myself,  because  all  nice  people 
do.  Oh,  how  unhappy  I  am,  and  how  I  want  to 
cry  !  {Threatens  the  audience  with  his  fist.)  Bad, 
wicked  people,  it's  you  thought  out  such  silly 
rules  !  It's  because  of  you  I've  got  to  take  the  life 
of  my  best  friend  !    {Turns  his  hack  on  the  public.) 

Harlequin  {to  Columbine)  :  Why  were  you  late 
to-day  ? 

Columbine  :  I  was  detained  by  the  Doctor — I  met 
him  quite  near  here.  He  was  dancing  and  limping 
and  drunk  and  accosting  all  the  girls. 

Harlequin  :   Well  ? 

Columbine  :  He  prayed  me  to  make  him  happy. 
He  assured  me  that  he  was  very  strong  and  had 
been  very  handsome  thirty  years  ago.  While  I 
was  showing  him  that  I  wasn't  a  historian  to 
be  captivated  by  antiquity,  time  passed  and  I 
was  late. 

Harlequin    {to  Audience)  :    Poor  Doctor !     Why 

p  didn't  he  come  to  me  earlier  for  advice  ? 


A  MERRY  DEATH  zf 

Columbine  :  I  was  very  sorry  for  him. 
Harlequin  {to  Audience)  :    Your  elbow's  near  and 

yet  you  can't  bite  it ! 
Columbine  :   He  was  weeping  and  crying  :   *'  Why 

the  devil  did  I  preserve  my  strength  ?  "    And  I 

answered  him  :  "  I  have  respect  for  your  wrinkles, 

but  not  passion." 
Harlequin  :     But   you   know.   Columbine,   he   is 

younger  than  I,  though  twice  as  old  in  years. 
Columbine  :   I  don't  understand  you. 
Harlequin  :    Because  you  haven't  meditated  on 

real  old  age.    {Tapping  Pierrot  on  shoulder.)    But 

why  aren't  you  drinking  or  eating  and  taking 

part  in  our  conversation  ? 
Columbine  :  He  wants  to  depress  us,  but  he  shan't, 

the  good-for-nothing  ! 
Pierrot  {weeping)  :    You  don't  understand,  poor 

thing,  that  Harlequin's  dying. 
Columbine  :  Dying  ?    You  horrid  thing  !    Or  have 

you  put  poison  in  our  glasses  ?     No,  no   {con- 

temptuously) ;  men  like  you  aren't  capable  of  that. 
Pierrot    {all   in    tears)  :     Poor    Harlequin,    your 

minutes  are  numbered  ! 
Columbine  :    What's  he  say  ?     What's  he  making 

up  ? 


28  A  MERRY  DEATH 

Harlequin  (turning  to  the  clock)  :  Yes,  Columbine, 
it's  true.  It's  time  for  you  to  know  it.  I  feel 
plainly  that  I  shall  soon  die. 

Columbine  :  Harlequin  !    Beloved  ! 

Harlequin  :  Don't  cry.  Columbine  !  I  shall  go 
away  with  a  smile  on  my  lips.  I  want  to  die  as 
people  want  to  sleep,  when  it's  late  and  they're 
tired  and  need  rest.  I've  sung  all  my  songs  ! 
I've  revelled  all  my  merriment !  I've  laughed  all 
my  laughter  !  My  strength  and  health  have  been 
joyfully  spent  with  my  money.  I  was  never 
mean,  and  so  was  always  merry  and  sorrowless. 
I  am  Harlequin,  and  shall  die  Harlequin.  Don't 
cry.  Columbine  !  Rather  be  glad  that  I'm  dying, 
not  like  others,  but  full  of  delight,  content  with 
fate  and  my  conduct.  Or  would  you  rather  see 
me  grappling  to  life  with  greedy  eyes  and  a 
prayer  on  my  hps  ?  No,  Harlequin  is  not  like 
that.  He  has  fulfilled  his  mission  in  life  and  dies 
calmly.  And,  really,  didn't  I  give  my  kisses  to 
who  wanted  them  ?  Didn't  I  lavish  my  soul  for 
the  good  of  others  ?  How  many  wives  of  ugly 
husbands  I  consoled  !  And  how  many  little  hats 
did  I  make  for  people  who  thought  themselves 
sages !    How  many  I  awoke  to  passionate  song  or 


A  MERRY  DEATH  29 

rattling  rage  !  To  how  many  I  gave  an  example  ! 
Now  I  have  outlived  my  life,  and  only  the  husk  is 
left  for  death  !  "  Catch  the  moments  " — that's 
my  motto  !  And  I  have  not  been  idle  to  catch 
them  !  I've  caught  so  many  that  I  want  no  more. 
Now,  perhaps,  another  kiss,  a  little  draught  of 
wine,  a  burst  of  merry  laughter — and  it  will 
be! 

Columbine  :  But  aren't  you  afraid  ? 

Harlequin  :  It  would  be  more  frightful  to  be  born  I 
Now  I'm  going  back  again. 

Columbine  :  To  sink  into  nothing  ! 

Harlequin  :  But  if  death's  nothing,  what  have  I 
to  fear  ? 

Columbine  :  Anyhow,  I'm  afraid. 

Harlequin  :  Your  bowl's  not  emptied  ;  you're 
afraid  not  to  be  ready. 

Columbine  :   But  only  think 

Harlequin  :  It  thinks  for  us. 

Columbine  :  But  we  ? 

Harlequin  :  We'll  remember  the  march  of  the 
clock — the  swift  march  of  the  clock  !  Stretch 
out.  Columbine !  Press  the  clusters  of  life ! 
Turn  them  to  wine  !  Don't  tarry  for  delight,  so 
as  to  be  sated  when  death  comes  !  [Takes  the  lute,) 


30  A  MERRY  DEATH 

And  you,  too,  stretch  out,  friend  Pierrot,  if  only 
you  can.  {Pierrot,  in  reply,  sobs.  Harlequin 
laughs.)  No,  no,  not  like  that ;  you  don't  under- 
stand me. 

Pierrot  :   The  lamp's  flickering. 

Harlequin  :  And  there's  no  oil  in  the  house. 

Columbine  :  But  look,  it's  still  burning  ! 

Harlequin  :  It's  burning.  Columbine,  burning ! 
{Begins  to  play.    The  strings  break.) 

Columbine  {sorrowfully)  :  The  strings  have  broken. 

Harlequin  {laughs)  :  My  catch  is  sung.  {A  knock.) 
Who's  there  ?  {Death  enters.  Harlequin  rises  to 
meet  her.  He  is  very  gallant.)  To  do  justice, 
madame,  you  have  come  just  in  time.  We  were 
only  just  talking  about  you.  Really,  how  obliging 
you  are,  not  to  keep  yourself  waiting  !  But  why 
these  tragic  gestures  ?  Look  round,  madame  ; 
you  are  in  the  house  of  Harlequin,  where  one  can 
laugh  at  all  that's  tragic,  not  even  excluding  your 
gestures.  {Death  points  at  the  clock  with  a  theatrical 
gesture.)  Enough,  enough,  madame.  Really,  if 
I  hadn't  laughed  all  my  laughter,  I  should  burst 
of  laughing  in  the  literal  sense  of  the  word.  What, 
you  want  to  stop  the  clock  ?  There's  plenty  of 
time,  madame.    As  far  as  I  know,  my  hour  has 


A   MERRY  DEATH  31 

not  yet  struck.  Or  you're  anticipating  a  struggle 
with  me  ?  No,  no  ;  I  don't  belong  to  the  silly 
bourgeois  boors.  Honour  and  place  to  a  beautiful 
lady  !  I  don't  want  to  cross  her,  and  then  I  can't 
oppose  her,  because  I've  used  up  all  my  strength. 
But  the  traditional  dance  ?  Your  dance  of  the 
good  old  times,  when  people  hadn't  yet  forgotten 
how  to  die,  and  even  Death  was  a  distraction  for 
them.  If  you  please  !  Ah,  you're  surprised  at 
the  request !  Yes,  yes.  Harlequin  in  our  time  is 
almost  a  fossil.  Well,  fair  lady,  enough  obstinacy. 
(Music.  Death  dances.)  Columbine,  Pierrot,  open 
your  eyes,  open  them  quickly  !  Look  how  merry 
we  are  !  (Harlequin  makes  Columbine  sit  down 
beside  him  on  the  bed.  Dbath  places  her  hand  on 
his  shoulder.  To  Death.)  Wait,  my  dear  lady, 
wait.  Let  me  take  leave  of  the  world  as  the 
world  does  !  One  more,  only  one  more  kiss. 
Columbine  !  Pierrot,  where  have  you  got  to,  you 
coward  ?  (Rises.)  Well,  if  you're  too  lazy  to  light 
me.  (Gives  the  lamp  to  Death.)  Light  the  way. 
Death  ;  there's  still  a  tiny  drop  of  oil  in  the  lamp. 
(Death  separates  him  from  Columbine.) 
Columbine  (as  in  a  dream)  :  My  Harlequin  !  My 
beloved  !     (The  lamp  goes  out.     Then  the  moon 


32  A   MERRY    DEATH 

lights  up  the  stage.  It  is  twelve  o'clock.  Columbine 
is  kneeling  at  Harlequin's  death-bed.  Pierrot  comes 
in  on  the  right.) 
Pierrot  [to  Audience)  :  Here's  a  situation.  I  really 
don't  know  what  I  ought  to  bewail  first :  the  loss 
of  Harlequin,  the  loss  of  Columbine,  my  own 
bitter  lot  or  yours,  dear  audience,  who  have 
witnessed  the  performance  of  such  an  unserious 
author.  And  what  did  he  want  to  say  in  his 
piece  ? — I  don't  understand.  By  the  way,  I'm 
silly,  cowardly  Pierrot,  and  it's  not  for  me  to 
criticise  the  piece  in  which  I  played  an  unenviable 
role.  But  your  astonishment  will  increase  still 
more  when  you  know  what  I  have  been  told  to 
say  in  conclusion  by  the  culprit  of  this — well, 
between  ourselves — this  strange  mockery  of  the 
public.  Shhh  !  Listen  !  "  When  the  genius 
Rabelais  was  dying,  the  monks  collected  round  his 
couch  and  tried  in  every  way  to  induce  him 
to  do  penance  for  his  sins.  Rabelais,  in  reply, 
only  smiled,  and  when  the  moment  of  the  end 
came,  he  said  mockingly :  '  Let  down  the  cur- 
tain ;  the  farce  is  over.'  He  said  this  and  died." 
Why  the  graceless  author  thought  it  necessary 
to  put  other  people's  words  into  the  mouth  of 


A  MERRY  DEATH  33 

one  of  the  actors,  I  don't  know — I've  not  a  free 
hand  in  the  matter ;  but  being  a  respectable  actor, 
I  stand  by  him  to  the  last  and  so,  obeying  with- 
out dispute  the  will  of  the  author,  I  shout  mock- 
ingly :  Let  down  the  curtain  ;  the  farce  is  over. 
(The  curtains  fall  behind  him.)  Ladies  and  gentle- 
men, I  forgot  to  tell  you  that  neither  your  ap- 
plause nor  your  hissing  of  the  piece  is  likely  to  be 
taken  seriously  by  the  author,  who  preaches  that 
nothing  in  life  is  worth  taking  seriously.  And  I 
suggest  that  if  truth  is  on  his  side,  then  you 
should  hardly  take  his  play  seriously,  all  the  more 
as  Harlequin  has  probably  risen  from  his  death- 
bed already,  and,  perhaps,  is  already  tidying 
himself  in  anticipation  of  a  call,  because,  say 
what  you  like,  but  the  actors  can't  be  responsible 
for  the  free-thinking  of  the  author.    (Exit.) 

(Curtain) 


THE   BEAUTIFUL   DESPOT 

THE  LAST  ACT  OF  A  DRAMA 
By   NICHOLAS    EVR^INOV 


CHARACTERS 

The  Master, 

and  his 

Companion, 

Friend, 

Maid, 

Manservant, 

Fool-Hermaphrodite, 

Arab  Boy  and 

Favourite  Witch. 


THE   BEAUTIFUL   DESPOT 

(The  play  takes  place  in  the  late  autumn  of  1904. 
The  room  luxuriously  furnished  in  the  style  of  a 
century  before.  The  Master  of  the  house,  his 
Lady  Companion,  Manservant  and  Fool- Her- 
maphrodite with  a  monkey.  All  are  dressed  in 
antique  style.) 

Servant  [with  animation)  :  *'  Tally-ho  !  Tally-ho  ! 
Hark  !  Follow,  follow  !  "  The  hounds  were  at 
their  last  gasp.    They  were  only  a  length  behind 

him.     Now  they've  got  him,  thought  I No  ! 

the  little  lord  held  out  another  ten  minutes — 
he  doubled,  the  ragamuffin,  and  doubled  again, 
and  again — at  last  the  whip  was  going  to  turn 
the  pack  back  ! — Aha  !  just  look  ! — I  can't 
describe  it  ! — its  tongue  hanging  out,  its  eyes 
bulging. — What  a  beauty,  just — "  On  him,"  we 
shouted.  "  Tally-ho  !  Tally-ho  !  There  he  goes, 
here  he  goes,  this  way,  that  way."     "  No,  no, 

37 


38  THE  BEAUTIFUL  DESPOT 

youVe  gone  enough  !  "  Within  a  minute  he  was 
done  for. — How  his  brush  trailed.  The  dear  old 
chap  was  done  for,  the  old  fellow  was  done. 

Master  :   Good  work,  begad. 

Servant  :  Ay,  I  dare  swear  there's  no  sport  in  the 
world  to  beat  fox-hunting,  nothing  ! 

Master  :  No,  Egorich,  give  things  their  due.  For 
instance,  I'm  extraordinarily  pleased  with  to- 
day's sport.  Not  even  God  knows  how  many 
brace  I  shot,  but  there  were  some  moments 
that {Kisses  the  tips  of  his  fingers.) 

Companion  :  Who  said  that  hunting  was  a  cruel 
pastime  ? 

Servant  :  Some  jealous  beast  who  can't  shoot  or 
can't  afford  a  gun  !    (Laughs.) 

Fool  (in  motley,  screams  like  a  monkey) :  Kiriki, 
kirikoo,  kiriki. 

Master  (drinking)  :  Impeaching  human  happiness 
— ^that's  real  cruelty.  Ahem  !  I've  dined  well 
to-day.  (To  Servant.)  My  compliments  to  your 
wife  ;  to-day's  dinner  was  excellent.  I'm  not 
calling  her  up  to  compliment  her,  from  considera- 
tion for  her  corns.    But  how's  Diana  ? 

Companion  :   I  heard  her  howling. 

Servant  :   Yes,  I  gave  her  another  bath  with  bran 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  DESPOT  39 

and  rubbed  her  belly  with  camphorated  oil ;   but 

you'll  have  to  bleed  her,  as  sure  as  life.     (Maid 

brings  in  a  long  lit  tobacco-pipe.) 
Companion    (beckoning   at    Fool   with   a    biscuit)  : 

Chick,  chick,  chick,  chick. 
Master  :    Poor  little  doggie  !     However  could  it 

have  happened  ?     (Smokes.    Fool  scrambles  up  to 

Companion,  ivho  pulls  his  ear.) 
Companion  :    Ah,  you  good-for-nothing.    You  like 

to  play  cards,  but  you  don't  like  to  be  smacked 

for  forfeits.     Where  did  you  run  away  to  when 

you  lost  ?     (Fool  squeals.)     I'll  show  you  !     I'll 

show  you  !    I'll  show  you  ! 
Fool  :   I'll  set  the  house  on  fire  !    I'll  set  the  house 

on  fire  !     (Runs  after  Maid  and  pulls  her  braids.) 

Bom  !    Bom-bom-bom  !    Bom-bom-bom-bom  ! 
Maid  :   Let  go  !    Let  go,  you  nasty  thing  !    D'you 

hear,  let  go  !    Egorich,  take  him  away. 
Fool  :  I'm  ringing  the  alarm.    Fire  !    We're  alight ! 

Bom  -  bom  -  bom  -  bom  !     Bom  -  bom  -  bom  -  bom  ! 

(Exit  Maid.    Servant  beats  him.)  Tt,  you  !     One 

foot  in  the  grave,  and  still  fighting  !    (Goes  back 

to  his  monkey.) 
Companion  :    But  what  if  he  really  does  set  the 

house  on  fire  ?     What  will  happen  ? 


40  THE  BEAUTIFUL  DESPOT 

Master  :  Well,  the  stables  will  be  burned  too. 
They're  so  near  the  house.  {Smiles.  To  Fool.) 
True,  fool  ? 

Fool  :  A  true  fool ! 

Master  :  Yes,  I  really  am.  To  be  the  owner  of 
estates  with  such  a  fine  chase,  and  instead  of 
shooting  and  enjoying  myself  in  the  open  air 

Servant  :  How  often  didn't  I  say  to  you  in  the 
town  :  the  woodcock  are  dull  without  you,  the 
wolves  run  about  in  the  garden  in  the  daytime, 
everyone  says,  '*  Where's  master  ?  " 

Master  :  Don't  tell  me  ;  I'm  laughing  at  myself. 

Servant  :  And  you  didn't  want  to  know ;  you  used 
to  sit  with  those  long-haired  people,  you  used  to 
write  books  for  them,  you  were  getting  pale  and 
thin 

Companion  :  Next  time  I'll  go  hunting  too  !  My 
costume's  been  repaired. 

Servant  :  I  can  understand  those  long-haired 
vagabonds  writing  books ;  they  haven't  got 
estates  or  health,  and  the  colour  of  their  faces 
isn't  worth  spoiling.  But  you're  a  rich  gentle- 
man, such  a  gentleman,  that  your  little  toe  would 
show  you  were  a  gentleman,  and  then  all  of  a 
sudden 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  DESPOT  41 

Master  :  Ah  !  when  you  were  speaking  the  truth, 
I  was  full  of  prejudices 

Servant  :  Only  to  think  how  much  time  you 
wasted  for  nothing 

Master  :   Nearly  all  my  youth 

Companion  :  But  who  said  he  wasn't  going  to  talk 
of  the  past  ?  There's  firm  determination  !  In- 
stead of  sad  recollections,  Egorich,  you'd  much 
better  tell  us  how  his  grandfather  drove  out  in 
the  coach  with  girls  for  horses.  But  in  detail. 
I  and  Grusha  intend  to  take  him  out  the  same 
way. 

Servant  :  Ah,  young  lady  !  That's  impossible  ! 
There  are  no  girls  now  like  there  used  to  be. 
Are  there  ?  Can  you  see  them  now  with  blood 
as  thick  as  milk,  and  strong  as  horses,  and  such 
teeth — oh  !  it  used  to  hurt  to  look  at  them,  they 
glistened  so.  And  their  calves  were  burnt  like 
your  iron  and  their  braids  were  like  whips  !  Oho, 
young  lady,  those  times  have  gone,  there  are  no 
more  pretty  girls  like  there  used  to  be. 

Companion  :   Come,  tell  us  how  it  used  to  be. 

Maid  (enters)  :  The  witch  has  come.    Is  she  to  wait  ? 

Master  :  No,  no,  call  her  in  at  once,  call  the  dear 
old  lady  in. 


42  THE  BEAUTIFUL  DESPOT 

Servant  :  May  I  clear  ? 

Master  :   Yes,  and  bring  in  the  candelabra. 

Servant  :   Yes,  sir.    (Exit.) 

Fool  (plays  with  monkey)  :   Kiriki,  kirikoo,  kirikoo. 

Companion  :  How  soon  it  gets  dark  now  ! 

Master  :  Well,  shall  we  take  her  potions  and  fly 
to  the  Brocken. 

Companion  :  I'm  afraid  only  it  might  upset  your 
health. 

Master  :  What  nonsense !  In  the  first  place 
(points  at  Fool)  he  dreamed  I  was  so  well,  and  in 
the  second,  what's  health  ?  Isn't  it  money  to 
be  spent  neither  too  stingily  nor  too  prodigally  ? 

Companion  :  I  don't  know  why,  but  you're  in  a 
reasoning  mood  to-day.  But  we  must  ask  the 
witch  about  his  dream.  (Enter  Servant  with 
candelabra.)     Where's  the  Arab  boy  gone  to  ? 

Servant  :  He's  sitting  with  Diana ;  they're  both 
black  and  miserable. 

Maid  (enters)  :  She's  coming  ! 

Master  :  Aha. 

Maid  :   Now  then,  Ump  up.    (Enter  Witch.) 
(Master:  Ah!  good  day,  my  dear. 
(Companion  :   Good-day,  beauty. 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  DESPOT  43 

Master  :  Your  ugliness  gets  more  beautiful  every 
day. 

Companion  :  Will  you  be  a  hundred  years  old  the 
day  after  to-morrow  ? 

Servant  :  What  ?  Has  she  been  merry-making 
all  this  time  ? 

Master  :  Still  the  same  success  with  the  goats  ? 
Ah,  the  rogue  knows  how  to  make  her  warts  suit 
her  face.  She  knows  the  scents  that  please  the 
long  tails. 

Maid  :    Why  don't  you  speak,  you  stockfish  ? 

Companion  :  She's  collecting  herself. 

Maid  {holds  a  live  log  under  the  witch's  nose)  :  What's 
it  smell  of  ?  Eh  ?  What's  it  smell  of  ?  {Witch 
hisses.  All  laugh.)  What,  don't  you  like  it,  you 
big-faced  sorceress  ? 

Master  :  Listen,  you  rogue.  Last  night  our  fool  had 
a  quite  extraordinary  dream.  First  he  dreamed 
that  he,  a  fool,  had  been  appointed  to  a  terribly 
responsible  post.  Well,  so  far  there's  nothing 
extraordinary,  that  happens  all  round  us  every 

day,  but  after  that {The  Arab  boy  enters 

with  a  card  on  a  silver  tray.  General  conster- 
nation.) 

Master  {astonished)  :    Well,  this  is  the  last  thing  I 


44  THE  BEAUTIFUL  DESPOT 

expected.     (Pause.)     Egorich,  go  and  ask  him 

into  the  hall.      (Exit  Servant.)      What  the 

I'm  in  my  dressing-gown. — Here's  a  surprise  ! 
Companion  :   Whoever  is  it  ?    (Looks  at  card.)    Oh, 

it's  the  man  who  was  exiled  ? 
Master  :    Yes,  who'd  have  thought  of  him  ?     (To 

Witch.)     My  dear,  go  to  the  kitchen  for  a  little 

while  ! 
Companion  :   Interesting  to  know  what  he  want^  ? 

Why  ever  has  he  come  all  this  way  ?    Why,  isn't 

he  a  famous  writer  now  ?     (Exeunt  Witch,  Arab 

hoy,  and  Maid.) 
Master  :   And  a  famous  man  of  learning. 
Companion  :   Well,  he's  not  got  such  a  wonderful 

mind,  so  I  heard. 
Master  :    But  he's  got  something.     He  preferred 

martyrdom  for  an  idea  to  any  kind  of  jobbery, 

and  consequently 

Companion  :   And  you'll  receive  this  adventurer  ? 
Master  :    I  want  to  be  polite,  and  besides,  he's 

better  than  the  others. 
Companion  :  But  how  are  we  to  behave  with  him  ? 
Master  :   To  change  would  be  obviously  too  great 

an  honour  for  such  a  gentleman.    The  year  1808 

will  continue  ;    guests  have  come — and  I'll  put 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  DESPOT  45 

on  my  uniform.  That's  what  my  great-grand- 
father would  have  done. 

Companion  :  He'll  destroy  all  the  illusion. 

Master  :   All  ?    He's  not  so  strong  as  that. 

Servant  (enters)  :  The  gentleman  says  he's  frozen 
from  the  journey. 

Master  :  Ask  him  in  here.  There's  a  fire  here. 
Have  the  candles  lit  on  the  walls,  and  come  and 
help  me  dress.    (Exit.) 

Servant  :  Very  good,  sir.  (At  the  door  Maid  runs 
into  him.)  What  the  devil  have  they  all  lost  their 
heads  about  ?     (Exit.) 

Maid  (to  Companion)  :   What  shall  we  do  ? 

Companion  :  Everything's  to  be  as  it  was  ;  to- 
day's the  second  of  October,  1808,  and  you  and 
I  are  just  his  slaves.  Although  he's  so  tired,  he's 
gone  to  put  on  his  uniform.  If  we  don't  earn  his 
approval,  well, — why,  he  makes  less  of  us  every 
day. 

Maid  :   Oh,  but  don't  you  like  that  ? 

Companion  :  Light  the  room  up  more. 

Maid  :   I'm  so  excited.    I'm  burning  all  over. 

Companion  :   Try  some  cold  water.    (Exit.) 

Fool  ;    We're  on  fire  ?     Water  !    Water  !     (Enter 


46  THE  BEAUTIFUL  DESPOT 

Friend    of   Master,    in    normal    twentieth-century 

clothes,  with  spectacles,  followed  by  Servant.) 
Friend  :    I  should,  er — I  don't  know — if  I  could 

brush  myself  a  little — to  tell  the  truth — the  dirt 

of  the  railway — it's  the  worst  thing  on  earth 

Servant  :  You  can  get  warm  here  by  the  stove  and 

have  a  brush  down.    Grusha,  bring  a  brush. 
Friend  :  What  a  long  way  you  are  from  the  station  ! 

How's  the  master,  is  he  well  ? 
Servant  :  Oh  yes.     Did  you  get  good  horses,  if  I 

might  ask  ? 
Friend  {looking  round  amazed)  :   Er,  yes,  not  bad. 
Servant  :    The  girl  will  brush  you,  but  master's 

calling  me.    Grusha,  do  it  properly  !    {Exit.) 
Friend  {moving  away  from  the  monkey)  :    It,  er — 

doesn't  bite  ? 
Maid  :   It  doesn't  bite  its  friends. 
Friend  :   But  strangers  ? 
Maid  :  Strangers  don't  come  here. 
Friend  :  Don't  come  here  ?    But,  er — your  master, 

is  he,  er — absolutely  well  ? 
Maid  :    Yes,  absolutely. 
Friend  :   Lucky  the  monkey  isn't  free  ! 
Maid  :    Goodness  gracious,  why,  nobody's  free  at 

master's. 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  DESPOT  47 

Fool  [approaches)  :    Who  are  you  ? 

Friend  :  And  who  are  you  ? 

Fool    [importantly)  :     I'm    Johnny    Cracken    and 

Jenny  Jolly,  but  what's  your  name  ? 
Friend   [hiding  his  confusion)  :    I'm  called  Vanya 

at  home.     [Laughs  awkwardly.) 
Fool  :    What's  the  joke  ?     [To  Maid.)    What's  he 

laughing  at  ?    [To  Monkey.)    What's  he  laughing 

at  ?    Let's  leave  the  sinner.    [Exit.) 
Friend  [pale)  :   Who's  that  ? 
Maid  :   He  told  you  :   Johnny  Cracken  and  Jenny 

Jolly. 
Friend  :    Er — is  your  master  really  quite  well  ? 
Maid  :   Oh  yes.    He's  just  coming.    [Pause.) 
Friend  :   I  should  like  to  know — how  many  miles 

is  it  from  here  to  the  railway  ? 
Maid  [astonished)  :    To  the  railway  ?     What's  the 

railway  ? 
Friend  :  You  don't  know  what  a  railway  is  ? 
Maid  :   I've  never  heard  of  one. 
Friend  :'  Do  you  mean  to  say — do  you — well  yes, 

er — do   you   all   live  here,   without   ever   going 

outside  ? 
Maid  :   Yes,  without  going  outside. 
Friend  ;   Hm. — Your  face  seems  familiar. 


48  THE  BEAUTIFUL  DESPOT 

Maid  :  I Ve  never  seen  you  before.  I  think  you're 
here  the  first  time 

Friend  :  I  can't  quite  recall  where — but  still — I 
don't  know,  perhaps  I'm  mistaken.  [Picks  up 
hook  and  reads)  :  ''  The  Political,  Statistical,  and 
Geographical  Journal;  or,  The  Contemporary 
History  of  the  World.  1808.  Third  part.  Third 
book.  September." — (Picks  up  another) — "The 
Genius  of  the  Times,"  1808. — **  St.  Petersburg 
Review  " — '*  Northern  Mercury  " — all  September, 
1808. — Tell  me,  that  is,  er,  tell  me,  what  are 
these  papers,  old  ones  ? 

Maid  :  I  don't  know ;  we  don't  know  anything 
about  those  things.    (Lights  the  last  candles.) 

Friend  :  I  don't  understand  what  sort  of  candles 
these  are.    They're  funny. 

Maid  :   Funny  ?    They're  the  best  sort  of  tallow. 

Friend  :  Tallow  ?  Listen.  What  does  this  all 
mean  ?  Come,  I  entreat  you,  tell  me  what  it's 
all  about  ?  My  head's  going  round. — Oh  !  Why, 
you're  Baroness  Nordman,  or  I've  gone  mad,  or 
I've  got  hallucinations,  or  I'm  dreaming  ! 

Maid  :    But,  sir  ! 

Friend  :  You're  Baroness  Nordman,  whom  I  met 
only  a  year  ago  at  the  Sociological  Society  ! 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  DESPOT  49 


Maid  :   But,  sir  ! 

Friend  :  I've  no  more  doubts.  You're  Helen, 
Baroness  Nordman. 

Maid  (withdrawing)  :  Lord  preserve  us  !  What  are 
you  talking  about,  sir  ?  I'm  a  serf,  a  chamber- 
maid, my  name's  Grusha,  I  wash  the  floor. 

Friend  :  A  serf  ?  {Pause.)  But  serfdom  was 
abohshed  in  1861  !  !  ! 

Maid  :  Lord  preserve  us  !  Why  it's  only  1808  now  ! 

Friend  :  What  ?  !  !    {Enter  Master.    Exit  Maid.) 

Master  {in  old-fashioned  uniform)  :  Good-day — 
whatever's  the  matter  ? 

Friend  :  What  does  all  this  mean  ?  I  entreat  you, 
in  the  name  of  God,  tell  me  what  it  all  means  ? 
Oh  !    Oh  !   my  heart !    Water  !    Water  ! 

Fool  {entering  with  Companion)  :  Water  !  Water  ! 
Fire! 

Master  :   Are  you  ill  ?    What  has  happened  ? 

Friend  :  Spray  me  with  water !  Pinch  me  as 
hard  as  you  can,  because  I'm  fast  asleep,  I'm 
frightened  and  I  can't  wake  up.  Wake  me  up  ! 
This  is  hellish  !  Or  have  I  got  hallucinations  ?  !  ! 
{More  quietly.)  I've  been  travelling  two  days  in 
the  train  and  almost  a  whole  day  in  the  carriage. 
If  you're  trying  to  hoax  me,  it's  not  at  all  nice  of 

E 


50  THE  BEAUTIFUL  DESPOT 

you  :  I've  got  neurasthenia  and  a  weak  heart. — 
I  can't  make  out  anything.  I  met  an  awful  old 
woman  with  a  beard.  After  her  came  a  black 
boy.     An  angry  fool  made  a  laughing-stock  of 

me,  then  a  serf  baroness,  I  mean No,  I  ! 

I (Shouts.)     But  explain  it  once  for  all ! 

Why,  it's  not  like  anything  on  earth.  Did  they 
really  tell  me  the  truth  in  Petersburg  ;  have  you 
really  gone  mad  ? 

Master  :  You  weren't  afraid  to  visit  a  madman  ? 
Why  are  you  afraid  now  ? 

Friend  :  I — I'm  not  really  afraid,  but — I've  only 
lost  my  bearings — I  see  that  you're  not  mad,  but 

at  the  same  time Come,  don't  torment  me 

any  longer  !  Enough  !  Why,  it's  getting  cruel. 
I'm  dog  tired  !  Come,  explain  things  to  me, 
quickly. 

Fool  (enters)  :  Here's  water  !  Who  wants  water  ? 
(All  but  Friend  and  Fool  laugh.) 

Friend  :  Allow  me  to  introduce  you  :  my  "  God's 
fool,"  from  the  next  village. 

Fool  :    I'm  Johnny  Cracken  and  Jenny  Jolly. 

Master  :  They  call  him  Androgyne  there,  on 
irrefutable  grounds,  that's  to  say,  he's  bisexual. 

Friend  :   Lo — o— ord  ! ! ! 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  DESPOT  51 

Master  :  And  if  I  wanted  to  moralise  upon  every 
possible  occasion  I  should  say  at  once  that  you 
contemporary  young  people,  whose  men  are  full 
of  effeminacy  and  women  of  masculinity,  might 
all  be  called  hermaphrodites. 

Friend  :  You  say,  '*  You  contemporary  young 
people,"  but  what  are  you  ? 

Master  :  I  ?  My  costume,  my  toilet,  all  my 
appearance,  don't  they  tell  you  in  what  epoch 
I'm  living  ?  And  this  furniture,  this  illumina- 
tion, these  people  ! 

Friend  :  If  I'm  not  mistaken — it's  as  they  used  to 
live  a  hundred  years  ago. 

Master  :   You're  not  mistaken. 

Friend  :  Then — why  are  you — you — I  don't  know 
why,  but  I'm  afraid  somehow,  though  it  makes 
me  seem  a  coward.  I  don't  understand,  you 
prefer  this — obsolete  way  of  life  to  our  modern 

Master  :  That's  all. 

Friend  :   But  what's  the  reason  ? 

Companion  (smiles)  :   It's  a  curious  one. 

Master  :  There  are  several. 

Friend  :   Tell  me  just  one  ! 

Master  (takes  out  an  old  hook)  :  These  old  note- 
books ! 


52  THE  BEAUTIFUL  DESPOT 

Friend  :   What  are  they  ? 

Master  :  The  diary  of  my  great-grandfather. 

Friend  :   What  an  antiquity  ! 

Master  :   It  has  enchanted  me. 

Friend  :  The  antiquity  ? 

Master  :  I  was  enchanted  by  his  old  masterly  way 
of  life,  beautiful,  merry  ;  d'you  understand,  it 
enchanted  me  ?-  And  to  reproduce  it  even 
approximately  became  my  sacred  dream. 

Friend  :    You  were  always  a  dreamer. 

Master  :  Look  !  the  dream  has  come  true  !  I  live 
where  he  lived,  in  the  same  apartments,  with  the 
same  habits.  I  took  these  girls — come  nearer, 
Grusha  ! — these  dear  girls  as  slaves,  and  then 
there's  Egorich 

Friend  :  What  an  extraordinary  likeness  to 
Baroness  Nordman ! 

Master  :  That  poor  woman  died  recently. 

Friend  :  Really  ?  How  sad  !  She  was  a  truly 
advanced  woman.  The  feminist  movement  lost 
much  by  her  death.  Lord !  how  fervently  she 
insisted  upon  equal  rights  with  men  ! 

Master  :  And  how  terribly  her  soul  wished  to 
tremble  before  a  man's  strength !  Know  this  -- 
she  was  a  real  woman.    She  sought  her  ravisher, 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  DESPOT  53 

her  oppressor,  her  master.  She  was  decaying  in 
the  atmosphere  of  equal  rights,  she  was  freezing 
in  the  embraces  of  the  manikin  who  nourished 
her  so  much  and  so  convincingly  with  the  beauties 
of  free  love. 

Friend  :  What  are  you  saying  ?  !  Where  did  you 
get  that  from  ?  ! 

Master  :  Baroness  Nordman,  that  very  Baroness 
Nordman  who  was  tired  of  living  satiated  by  the 
advantages  of  civilization,  who  was  ready  for 
anything  to  be  saved  from  mortal  ennui — she 
died,  and  changed  into  my  slave. 

Friend  :  Into  a  slave  ?  !  !    You're  raving  ! 

Master  :  Grusha,  kiss  the  gentleman's  hand.  (Maid 
takes  Friend's  hand,  he  tears  it  away.) 

Friend  :  I  don't  understand  why  you're  hoaxing 
me. 

Master  (to  Maid)  :  Be  off !  (Exit  Maid.)  We're 
not  hoaxing  you  at  all.  (Turns  to  Com^panion.) 
She's  my  slave,  too,  but  more  intimate. 

Companion  :  I  am  very  glad  to  meet  you  ;  I  have 
heard  so  much  of  your  services  to  learning. 

Friend  :   Oh,  really — thank  you 

Master  :  You  think  there  are  few  women  who  are 
stifled  by  the  burden  of  their  freedom  !    And  so 


54  THE  BEAUTIFUL  DESPOT 

you  don't  want  to  admit  that  such  women,  from 
aversion  to  your  cultured  hfe,  from  love  of  the 
unusual,  and  from  love,  of  course,  of  me,  are 
able  to  become  slaves  !  I'll  show  you  afterwards 
the  vows  they've  sworn. 

Friend  :   Nothing  could  surprise  me  now. 

Master  :   Why  should  it  ? 

Friend  :   What  ?  !  ! 

Master  {reproachfully)  :  You  only  just  said  that 
nothing  could  surprise  you  now.  {All  laugh.)  But 
do  you  recognise  Egorich  ?  My  good  old  servant  ? 
I  don't  remember  if  I  told  you  that  he  and  his 
wife — she  cooks  for  us  here — took  up  a  somewhat 
original  position  in  regard  to  a  certain  reform. 

Friend  :   How  ? 

Master  :  They  declared  that  this  reform  could  not 
affect  such  faithful  servants  as  they,  and  despite 
everything  they  went  on  living  with  us  in  the 
old  way.  {Servant  kisses  his  hand.)  He  is  the 
right  hand  of  my  estate  here.  And  what  a 
hunter — it's  simply  amazing !  Did  you  ever  hear 
of  hunting  with  alauntis,  bandogs  and  bercelets  ? 

Friend  :   Whatever  are  they  ? 

Master  :  There  you  are  !  {To  Servant.)  Order 
your  old  woman  to  cook  something  good   for 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  DESPOT  55 

supper ;  and  bring  us  at  once  a  bottle  of  mead 
and  a  plate  of  comfits. 

Servant  :  Very  good,  sir.  Shall  I  lay  the  table 
in  the  dining-room  or 

Master  :  In  the  dining-room.  {Exit  Servant.)  But 
why  are  you  standing  up,  dear  old  chap.  Please 
sit  down. 

Friend  [sarcastically)  :  I  didn't  dare — you're  so 
majestic.    [They  sit  down.) 

Master  [joking)  :  Never  mind !  Be  brave,  be 
brave  ! 

Friend  :  So  we're  living  now  in  eighteen  hundred 
and 

Companion  :    In  eighteen  hundred  and  eight. 

Master  :  That  is  when  my  great-grandfather  was 
just  the  age  I  am  now,  when  he  had  retired  from 
his  regiment  and  lived,  as  he  said,  "  in  the  gentle 
calm  of  my  country  paradise." 

Friend  [sarcastically)  :  So  you,  our  matchless 
economist,  the  pride  of  our  society,  shining,  as 
it  were,  like  a  star  in  the  dark  night  of  our  social 
life,  you  have  gone  back  to  the  Dark  Ages,  to  the 
epoch  of  tyranny,  to  the  time  plusquamperfectum 
only  because  the  life  of  your  great-grandfather 
has  exercised  an  irresistible  influence  over  you  ? 


56  THE  BEAUTIFUL  DESPOT 

Master  {seriously)  :  That  was  one  of  the  reasons. 
The  seed  fell  on  prepared  soil.  There  had  always 
dwelt  in  me  the  despot  side  by  side  with  the 
liberal. 

Friend  :  And  they  lived  together. 

Master  :  For  a  certain  time. 

Friend  :   That's  interesting. 

Master  {to  his  Companion)  :  Tell  him  the  tale,  how 
two  dwelled  in  one  soul. 

Friend  :  Whose  is  this  tale  ? 

Master  :  Mine.  She  learns  my  works  by  heart ; 
she  says  she  is  ready  to  put  them  to  music,  to 
illuminate  them  in  colours,  to  mould  their  ideas 
in  clay,  to  write  them  out  a  thousand  times  in 
golden  ink.  {Servant  brings  in  a  bottle  oj  mead.) 
Well,  begin  ! 

Companion  {at  the  harp)  :  There,  where  is  so  much 
filth  and  so  much  serene  divinity,  where  often 
the  very  demon  builds  a  nest  and  where  some- 
times the  seraphim  fly,  where  is  preserved  so 
much  secrecy,  potentiality,  and  marvellous  power, 
there,  in  one  of  these  wondrous  abodes  built,  as 
they  all  are,  for  one,  only  for  one — lived  two. 
One  was — (Heavens  !    how  unpleasant  to  speak 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  DESPOT  57 

of  those  you  hate) — one  was  good,  learned,  dili- 
gent. The  other  was — (how  I  adore  him  !) — the 
other  was  evil,  all-evil  and  unlearned  and  lazy. 
They  were  crowded,  of  course,  but — Fate  did 
not  let  them  live  apart.  They  wanted  to  develop, 
but  each  was  a  huge  hindrance  to  the  other.  And 
the  one  that  passed  for  learned  and  good  and 
diligent  drugged  the  other  with  the  potion  of 
science  ;  sat  at  his  bedside  and  sang  this  lullaby  : 
"  Sleep,  dear  master  :  sleep,  covering  over  your 
eyes  I  Your  glorious  age  is  past !  Sleep  ;  the 
golden  age  is  past !  Now  we  only  mock  your 
noble  mien.  We  need  learning  and  work.  The 
polish  of  the  grandee  does  not  tempt  us  :  the  fair 
ladies  are  ever  less  and  less  that  count  a  well- 
kept  above  a  horny  hand." — So  sang  he  that 
was  learned  and  closed  the  beautiful  eyelids  of 
him  that  was  unlearned  with  irresistible  sleep. 
Only  he  did  not  reign  long,  not  long  did  he 
rule.  It  is  hard  to  break  a  master's  strength, 
real  strength,  even  with  a  drowsy  poison.  One  ! 
and  he  suddenly  awoke. — Two !  he  stretched 
agreeably. — Three  !  and  from  laziness  he  had 
already  forgotten  to  think.  "  No,"  he  cried,  "  it 
shall  not  be  as  you  wish  !     I  will  hear  no  more 


58  THE  BEAUTIFUL  DESPOT 

fables,  brother !  It  will  be  difficult  to  drug 
me  now.  Well,  come  and  let  us  measure  our 
strength.  Enough  !  We  cannot  live  here  to- 
gether as  we  used  to.  Do  you  hear !  You 
have  diverted  yourself  enough,  my  beloved." 
Thereupon  he  that  was  learned  produced  one 
thousand  five  hundred  arguments.  He  that  was 
ignorant  overcame  them  at  once  by  mere  force 
of  will :  he  took  his  rival  by  the  throat,  gave  him 
a  trifle  with  two  fingers,  cast  him  out  of  the  doors 
of  the  sanctuary  and  began  to  live  alone,  his 
own  master.  That's  all  the  story,  but  you  may 
think  out  the  moral  yourself,  if  the  story  pleased 
you  and  you  fully  understood  it. 

Friend  :  H'm. — Well — it's  very  amusing.  (Laughs.) 
It's  very  amusing.  The  chief  contributor  to  the 
''  Lever  "  writes  stories  like  this  !  No,  it's  so 
amusing,  so  amusing  that — ha,  ha,  ha,  ha,  ha. 

Master  (drinking  a  beaker  of  mead)  :  Very  glad  to 
have  cheered  you  up.  But  how  nervy  you  are  ; 
you  must  be  working  a  lot.  Why  precisely  did 
you  come  to  see  me  ? 

Friend  :  Well,  in  my  sweet  ignorance  I  presumed 
that — I  don't  understand,  didn't  you  get  any  of 
my  letters  ? 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  DESPOT  59 

Master  :  I  don't  want  to  have  anything  in  com- 
mon with  the  twentieth  century.  No  one  dares 
bring  letters  to  me.    That's  my  command. 

Friend  :  Wise  command  !  But  I  wrote  to  you, 
and,  at  the  editor's  instructions,  have  even 
journeyed  here  to  ask,  persuade,  entreat  you 
even  in  God's  name  to  write  just  a  Uttle 
article  for  us.  Really,  jokes  aside,  doesn't  your 
conscience  torture  you  ?  The  editor  is  simply 
besieged  with  letters,  '*  Why  doesn't  he  write  ?  " 
— "  Is  it  true  that  he  doesn't  contribute  any 
more  ?  " — "  Where  are  the  articles  you  promised 
by  him  ?  "  Listen  !  Now,  really,  give  up  this 
caprice  !  Write  just  a  few  lines.  The  paper 
will  fall  to  pieces  without  you — you  know  it 
well. 

Master  :   Please  drink. 

Friend  :  Come,  answer  me  plainly.  {Drinks  a 
goblet  of  mead.) 

Master  :  Excellent ;  I'll  send  you  a  few  articles  ; 
only  I  don't  know  if  they'll  suit  a  paper  with 
Liberal  tendencies.  The  first  article  is  called, 
''  The  Positive  Values  of  Serfdom."  The 
second 

Friend  :    You  want  to  laugh  again. 


6o  THE  BEAUTIFUL  DESPOT 

Master  :  On  the  contrary,  I  want  you  to  laugh. 
[Picking  up  a  paper.)  To  tell  the  truth,  a  better 
reply  to  your  remark  would  be  the  following 
passage  from  ''  A  New  Catechism  of  French 
Literature."  Here  it  is.  It's  a  question  of  paper- 
soiling.  Listen,  what  the  use  is  of  paper-soiling  : 
"  The  flourishing  condition  of  paper  manufac- 
turers, printers,  and  booksellers,  the  diversion  of 
others,  the  nourishment  of  one's  own  spirit, 
which  almost  unceasingly  languishes  with  a 
thirst  for  instruction  and  the  acquirement  of 
glory."  Of  course,  you'll  say  that  what  was 
written  in  1808,  can  have  no  significance  to  the 
twentieth  century,  but  I 

Friend  :  You're  not  really  interested  in  these  old 
things  ? 

Master  :  Old  things  ?  A  paper  for  September, 
1808,  to  be  called  old  !  (To  Companion.)  Well, 
I  never  !  {To  Friend.)  Ah,  if  you  only  knew 
how  every  novelty  excites  us,  every  event  of 
passing  life  !  Why,  not  long  ago  a  meeting  took 
place  between  the  Emperor  Alexander  and 
Napoleon.  Would  you  believe  it,  our  hands 
shook  when  we  learned  what  was  happening  ? 
Just  listen.    (Reads.)    "  We  speak  of  the  meeting 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  DESPOT  6i 

of  these  Monarchs  first  as  of  a  splendid  event 
in  history,  of  a  meeting  which,  under  all  the 
circumstances,  is  bound  to  have  the  most  far- 
reaching  consequences." — D'you  hear  ! — "  The 
most  far-reaching  consequences." 

Friend  {takes  the  paper  and  reads)  :  "  The  Political, 

Statistical,    and    Geographical "      Oh,    the 

devil ! 

Master  :   It's  our  favourite  paper. 

Friend  :  It's  simply  incredible.  What  did  you 
say — "  The  Positive  Values  of  Serfdom  "  ? 

Master  :   Yes.    {Pours  him  out  mead.) 

Friend  :  So  you  seriously  advocate  serfdom  ? 
Thanks,  enough  ;   this  stuff's  very  strong. 

Master  :  So  I  seriously  advocate  serfdom  !  {Pours 
out  for  Companion  and  self.)  It's  strong  only  for 
the  weak. 

Friend  :   And  you  say  this  ? 

Master  :  I  am  repenting — I  had  erred.  You  see, 
I'm  not  a  god. 

Companion  {with  energy)  :   You  are  a  god  ! 

Master  :  Not  in  that  sense.  You  ask  for  my 
articles,  but  that  part  of  me  lost  its  belief  in 
social  ideals  and  died  of  sorrow.  It  gave  up  its 
place  to  a  despot ! 


62  THE  BEAUTIFUL  DESPOT 

Companion  :  To  a  beautiful  despot ! 

Master  :  And  this  despot  has  the  audacity  to 
affirm  that  most  people  are  fools  and  rogues. 
To  give  them  the  freedom  of  which  you  sing  : 
first,  there's  no  reason  for  it ;  and  secondly,  it's 
harmful,  because  these  gentlemen  even  in  bonds 
are  sufficiently  dangerous  to  each  other,  and  in 
their  own  interests,  that  is,  in  the  interests  of  the 
majority,  their  freedom  is  undesirable.  And 
as  Liberals  ought  to  conform  in  all  things  with 

the  interests  of  the  majority,  so (All  laugh.) 

Why,  you  value  everything  from  the  point  of 
view  of  justice  and  utility.  Well,  there  you  are  : 
from  the  point  of  view  of  justice — there's  no 
reason  for  it,  and  from  the  point  of  view  of 
utility — it's  harmful. 

Friend  (laughs)  :   Excellent  sophistry  ! 

Master  :  All  the  more  as  I  acknowledge  as  right 
neither  the  point  of  view  of  justice  nor  the  point 
of  view  of  utility.  The  point  of  view  of  beauty, 
of  pleasure — that's  how  I  regard  it. 

Friend  :   But,  my  dear  old  chap,  if 

Master  :   Come,  don't  let's  quarrel. 

Friend  :  Is  modern  culture  really  so  non-existent  ? 
Have  you  really  turned  your  back  on  it  ? 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  DESPOT  63 

Master  :  Modern  culture  ! — H'm.  Modern  cul- 
ture !  Gad,  those  damned  words  turn  my  hands 
into  fists  !  I  want  to  roar  with  rage,  I — I  want 
to  throw  the  chairs  about.  Have  you  not 
noticed  how  this  "  modern  culture,"  how  it's 
destroying  beauty  ?  Can  you  really  look  on 
calmly  while  it  prefers  the  practicability  of 
speech  to  its  imagery,  the  colourless  costume  to 
the  picturesque,  while  it  destroy  ceremonies, 
visits,  low  bows.  In  wondrous  flowery  glades  it 
builds  black,  smoky  masses,  leads  handsome 
peasants  there  and  changes  their  marvellous  song 
into  a  vicious  catch ! — Besides,  contrasts  are 
necessary  for  beauty  !    Why,  it's  awful  if 

Friend  :  But,  my  dear  fellow 

Master:  And  you  still  want  to  say  that  you  love 
beauty  in  all  things.  Have  shame  !  The  savage 
has  more  aesthetic  understanding.  It's  all  over. 
There  will  be  none  rich  beyond  words,  none  poor 
beyond  words.  Venal  love,  interested  crimes, 
extravagant  Yankee  millionaires,  ravings  about 
gain,  picturesque  ragamuffins,  all  that  which  is 
so  interesting,  and  gives  such  beautiful  variety 
to  our  life,  all  is  falling  into  dust,  all,  all ! — It's 
interesting    just    to    think    what    contemporary 


64/  THE  BEAUTIFUL  DESPOT 

subjects  there  will  be  for  the  artist.  Even  war, 
even  that  beautiful  calamity  is  swept  away  with 
the  "  no  "  of  modern  culture.  Oh,  this  *'  modern 
culture  "  !  You  can't  imagine  a  better  nursery 
of  vulgarity.  It  is  pitiless  to  all  that  is  most 
beautiful.  Why,  the  picturesque  little  corners  of 
the  globe,  even  they  are  spoiled  with  restaurants  ! 
Believe  me,  there  will  come  an  hour  when  Ameri- 
canism, that  ideal  incarnation  of  vulgarity,  will 
catch  up  in  its  paws  the  last  poetical  little  spot  of 
our  much-enduring  planet  and  then 

Friend  :   And  then  ? 

Master  :  The  death  of  art — the  decadence  of 
decadence — the  empire  of  the  machine — the 
grandiose  factory,  and  before  it  an  American,  in 
a  humble  pose  and  boots  he  cleans  himself 

Friend  :  H'm — the  death  of  art.  Therefore  all 
manifestations  of  culture  should  be  annihilated, 
eh  ?  We  ought  to  look  to  the  Vandals  ?  Have  I 
understood  you  properly  ? 

Master  ;  My  dear  old  fellow,  in  the  matter  of 
knowledge  of  the  truth,  we  people  of  the  twentieth 
century  are  not  so  very  far  from  the  Vandals,  but 
in  the  matter  of  destroying  all  that  is  most 
beautiful,   all   that   most   adorns   life,   we   have 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  DESPOT  65 

surpassed  the  Vandals  without  doubt :  beautiful 
religion,  omnipotent  knowledge,  pleasurable  ethics, 
we  laugh  at  all  these,  make  nothings  of  them 
and — and  our  soul,  frightened  and  sad,  is  ready 
to  throw  us  into  acid,  into  the  bed  of  corruption, 
under  the  wheels  of  a  locomotive,  if  only  it  could 
stifle  in  itself  the  consciousness  of  this  inex- 
pressible horror.  You  understand  how  greatly 
a  man  must  suffer  for  whom  God  has  ceased  to 
exist,  but  in  whom  the  religious  feeling  remains, 
who  has  lost  a  reason  for  fighting,  but  in  whom 
both  the  strength  and  the  desire  to  fight  have 
remained,  who  wants  to  possess  the  truth  and 
knows  he  is  desiring  to  grasp  the  moon,  who  wants 
to  believe  in  the  magical  and  the  marvellous  and 
under  whose  nose  science  has  swept  all  magic. 

Friend  :  But 

Master  :  I  affirm  that  in  man  is  placed  the  neces- 
sity for  horrors  in  a  greater  measure  than  the 
necessity  for  deliverance  from  them.  Oh,  how 
I  want,  how  I  need  ghosts  and  slippery  nymphs 
and  vampires  with  terrible  red  eyes.  This  has 
been  found  to  be  vanity  and  driven  away,  but 
at  the  same  time  life  without  it  has  become  still 
vainer. 

F 


66  THE  BEAUTIFUL  DESPOT 

Friend  :  I  don't  understand ;  are  you  joking 
or 

Master  :  Woe  to  him  whose  aesthetic  taste  is  too 
refined  !  Woe  to  him  who,  as  I,  looks  into  the 
future  with  bated  breath,  who  desires  with  all 
his  soul,  but  does  not  see  there  the  superman. 

Friend  :  I  don't  really  understand  what  you're 
looking  for  !  You  want  the  restoration  of  the 
long  obsolete  forms  of  life. 

Master  :  My  dear  friend,  although  perhaps  even 
very  highly  respected  people  spread  the  report 
of  my  madness,  it's  not  really  true.  I'm  not 
striving  for  the  alteration  of  social  laws.  You 
can't  alter  the  inevitable.  But  if  I  could  only 
fight  for  the  beauty  of  olden  fife,  if  I  could 
only  count  upon  the  very  smallest  success,  how 
happy  I  should  be,  with  what  unweariedness,  with 
what  ardour  I  should  set  to  work  !  But  you 
remember  your  evangelist  said  that  the  social 
movement  flows  naturally  from  the  historical 
development  of  society,  and,  most  unfortunately, 
this  is  irrefutable.  I  could  shout  myself  hoarse, 
crying,  "  Stop  !  Whither  bound  ?  Go  back!  " 
I  could  shout  myself  hoarse  and  not  be  heard. 

Friend  ;   It's  amusing  to  listen  to  you. 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  DESPOT  67 

Master  :  One  must  be  a  great  philosopher  to  be 
reconciled  with  actual  reality.  But  I  cannot 
be  reconciled  ;  Fm  too  proud,  and  to  fight  with 
it  is  out  of  the  question.  And  I  went  away  from 
that  reality,  I  went  away,  to  lose  my  despair  in 
beautiful  folly. 

Friend  :  Permit  me  to  remark  upon  this  that  to 
say  that  something  is  beautiful  does  not  mean  to 
say  it  is  right,  and  I,  in  that  case 

Master  :  Better  beautiful  and  wrong,  than  right 
and  ugly  ;  in  both  cases  we're  a  thousand  miles 
away  from  final  truth. 

Friend  :   Yes,  but  if  you  judge  in  that  way 

Master  :  You  understand,  I  was  physically  unable 
to  bear  any  longer  the  society  of  those  advanced 
fools.  Lord,  what  a  gang  !  They  poisoned  the 
whole  air.  If  I  weren't  sorry  for  the  trees,  I'd 
hang  'em  all  with  my  own  hands  ;  I'd  drown 
'em  all  in  the  sea,  if  I  didn't  love  the  sea,  I — I'd 
shove  them  all  over  a  precipice,  if  only  there  were 
a  precipice  they  wouldn't  overfill !  Write  for 
them  ?    Write  for  that  mercantile  riffraff  ?  ! 

Friend  :  But  what  are  you  occupied  with  here  ? 
What  do  you  do,  cut  off  from  all  the  world  ? 

Master  :  We're  busy  with  salting,  boihng,  pickling, 


68  THE  BEAUTIFUL  DESPOT 

drying  and  soaking.  We  simply  don't  see  time 
pass :  hunting,  looking  after  the  estate ;  just  look 
how  many  books  we've  got,  let  alone  papers  ! 

Companion  :  And  did  you  see  the  tall  tower  on  our 
house  ?  We've  got  a  telescope  and  we  look  at 
the  skies  for  hours.    And  then  riding  and  walking  ? 

Master  :  If  only  you  saw  our  wonderful  marsh, 
behind  the  village  cemetery.  Not  only  we  walk 
there  in  the  dark  midnights — little  green  fires, 
sweetly-sad  as  we,  without  direction  and  with- 
out purpose,  move  about  us  and  wave 

Companion  :  We're  almost  the  whole  day  in  the 
fresh  air. 

Master  :    How  strong  I've  got !     What  muscles, 

why {To  Companion.)     Bring  a  horseshoe 

or  a  poker  and  a  pack  of  cards.  (Exit  Com- 
panion.)   What  do  I  do  ?    There  !  read  his  diary. 

Friend  (reads)  :   "  Diary  of  daily  events." 

Master  :    Find  to-day's  date  ! 

Friend  :   Yes,  and  then  ! 

Master  :  Read  more  or  less  what  I  was  occupied 
with  to-day.    (Pours  him  out  mead.) 

Friend  (reads)  :  *'  In  the  morning  I  went  hunting 
with  tolerable  success,  the  reason  of  which  was 
doubly  sad  thoughts  about  Anna " 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  DESPOT  69 


Master  :  That  was  his  aunt. 

Friend  :  "  Still  God  is  good.  I  wrote  to  my  friend 
in  town  to  send  me  another  doctor.  In  the  day 
I  personally  superintended  the  arrangement  of 
the  bath-house  for  the  winter.  Tarass  was  to 
dinner. '* 

Master  :   A  neighbour. 

Friend  :  "  We  were  much  diverted  with  an  anec- 
dote made  upon  an  oracle.  My  aunt  felt  herself 
so  much  improved  at  evening,  that  she  was  even 
desirous  to  be  present  at  a  comic  performance 
of  the  house-servants,  and  they,  rejoiced  at  her 
graciousness,  did  not  spare  their  efforts  to  amuse 
and  divert  her  at  discretion." 

Master  :  And  this  morning  I,  too,  went  hunting, 
in  the  daytime  I  superintended  the  dismantling 
of  the  bath-house,  and  this  evening  we,  too,  shall 
have  a  comic  performance.  {Calls.)  Grusha  ! 
Grusha  ! 

Friend  :  H'm.  [Bitterly.)  It's  all  right  for  you 
to  live  like  this — you've  got  so  much  money. 

Master  [seriously)  :  Yes,  it  is.    I'm  not  complaining. 

Friend  :  Pah  !  Well,  I'm  damned  !  Your  frank- 
ness is  very  near  cynicism.  But  are  you  really 
satisfied  with  such  a  life  ?     [Drinks.) 


70  THE  BEAUTIFUL  DESPOT 

Master  :  Agree  that  it's  more  beautiful  than  yours. 

Friend  :   But  the  reason  for  it 

Master  :  You  madden  me.  What  reason  ?  Can 
you  still  keep  on  hugging  that  "  reason  "  ?  What ! 
hasn't  the  senselessness  of  existence  stared  you  in 
the  face  yet  ?  You  haven't  yet  shrunk  with 
horror  at  its  look  ?  Wait,  wait !  I  had  too  high 
an  opinion  of  you.  The  hour  will  come  when  it'll 
happen.  The  hour  will  come  when  the  demon  of 
vengeance  will  awake  in  you,  the  terrible  demon 
of  vengeance,  and  when  you  will  want  to  seize 
the  globe  like  a  stone  from  the  street  of  the 
world  and  throw  it  with  all  your  force  at  the 
great  Policeman.    (Enter  Maid.) 

Friend  :  Lord,  what  a  passion  ! 

Master  :  A  pipe.    {Exit  Maid.) 

Friend  :  And  you've  become  a  phrase-maker,  dear 
old  chap.  I  hope  you're  not  offended  at  my 
frankness,  because 

Master  :  Come,  can  we  be  anything  else  ?  It's 
time  at  last  to  recognise  that  even  the  cleverest 
of  us,  the  most  talented,  the  most  learned,  is  no 
more  than  a  posing  phrase-maker.  Aren't  we 
all  bewitched  in  a  circle  of  error ;  aren't  all  our 
reasonings  the  chatter  of  children  ? 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  DESPOT  71 


Friend  :  But  you're  not  going  to  deny  that  the 
love  of  truth  which  Hes  in  us 

Master  :  But  the  love  of  beauty  and  the  love  of 
pleasure  lie  in  us  too.  My  dear  chap,  you  busy 
yourself  with  science  and  I  with  hunting,  but 
which  is  the  more  important  is  not  for  us  to 
decide.  I  have  lost  the  measure  of  importance 
and,  thank  God  !  I  can  do  whatever  comes  into 
my  mind  without  pangs  of  conscience.  You 
understand,  we've  wasted  what  is  most  valuable 
of  our  heritage  from  our  ancestors  :  credible 
knowledge  and  sound  ethics.  Ah  !  these  lovely 
sisters,  these  attentive  slaves  we've  gambled 
away  for  that  old  rake,  Scepticism  ! — But  they 
have  left  us,  with  other  old  stuff,  their  gar- 
ments, their  grand  motley  garments,  so-called 
"  phrases  "  and  "  poses."  Yes,  my  friend,  it's 
sad,  but  it's  so  :  there  are  only  phrases  and 
poses  left  to  us.  But  still,  it's  good  that  there's 
something  left :  we  can  divert  ourselves  with 
these  beautiful  rags  and  remember  those  who 
were  clad  in  them,  whom  they  made  so  charming. 
To  confound  you  with  the  charm  of  the  expres- 
sion, I  say,  "  Let  not  these  rags  lie  unused  in  the 
wardrobe  of  our  affliction  !  " 


72  THE  BEAUTIFUL  DESPOT 

Friend  :   Bravo,  bravo  ! 

Master  :  There  are  left  to  us  only  phrases  and 
poses  !  Well !  Let's  love  them  as  dear  toys  are 
loved.  (Maid  brings  him  a  pipe.)  You  smile, 
but (Smokes.)  Jokes  aside,  without  meta- 
phors, what  is  there  left  credible  to  us  beyond 
self-perception?    (To  Maid.)    Stop!    (To  Friend.) 

"  Do  I  think  it's  dull  ?  "    "  Well, "    "  Should 

I  like  to  see  a  lovely  body  dance  among  sharp 
swords  ?  "  "  1  should."  There's  an  example  of 
credibility  !  Let  my  desires  be  absurd,  I  like 
them  because  they  are  credible  for  me.  Begad, 
just  something  there's  no  doubt  about !  (To 
Maid.)  I  want  to  see  the  **  Dance  on  the  Wrathful 
Road."    Go  away,  undress  and  exhibit  your  art! 

Maid  (looking  at  Friend)  :   But (Master  turns 

to  her.)    Very  well,  sir.    (Exit.) 

Friend  :  By  Jove,  I  seem  to  be  asleep  again,  but 
this  time — I  don't  want  to  wake  up.  Your  mead 
is  incredibly  strong.  And  it  seemed  to  me  that 
portrait  smiled.    Who  is  it  ? 

Master  :   My  grandfather. 

Friend  :  I  thought  it  was  you.  (Companion  puts 
poker  and  cards  on  the  table.) 

Master  :    I  am  such  as  he  was — I'm  made  of  the 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  DESPOT  73 

same  dough  ;  my  soul  is  as  masterly  as  his  was. 
I'm  not  inferior  to  him,  inferior  in  no  way 
to  him,  but  still Oh !  (Points  to  Com- 
panion.) Ask  her  how  often  I  stand  before  this 
portrait  and  gnash  my  teeth  with  envy,  and  even 
weep.  (Picks  up  the  poker  and  bends  it.)  Tell  me, 
how  have  I  offended  fate  ?  Why  am  I  deprived 
of  the  powers  and  rights  and  all  that  importance 
which  he  had  ?  And  if  it  had  to  be  so,  was  it 
really  necessary  to  leave  me  with  a  soul  like  his  ? 
Why  didn't  they  tear  out  of  my  heart  all  love 
of  power,  all  masterly  pride,  all  blue-blooded 
caprice  ?    (Enter  Servant.) 

Companion  :   What  do  you  want  ? 

Servant  :  When  do  you  order  supper  ? 

Master  :  In  an  hour.  Tell  the  Arab  boy  to  be 
quick  !  Take  up  the  carpet !  Why  is  he  so  long 
with  the  swords  ?  And  the  fool  ?  Has  he  gone 
to  sleep  ?  Wake  him  and  tell  him  to  bring  the 
tambourines.  Then  light  the  chandeliers.  And 
don't  forget  to  burn  perfumes  ! 

Servant  :   Very  well,  sir.    (Exit.) 

Friend  :  All  the  same  I'm  sure  that  if  you'd  lived 
in  that  time,  you'd  have  taken  a  most  ardent 
part  in  the  movement  for  emancipation. 


74  THE  BEAUTIFUL  DESPOT 

Master  :  Quite  possibly.  Satiated  with  power, 
stung  to  the  quick  by  the  French,  thirsting  for 
popularity,  taken  with  the  difficulties  of  the 
problem — Begad,  it's  so  seductive  to  be  a  pioneer. 
(Picks  up  cards.)  Still,  I  think  I  should  have 
been  a  reactionary.  I  don't  know  what  would 
have  been,  and,  what  is,  oh  !  better  I  didn't  ! 
[Tears  the  pack  oj  cards  in  half.  Arab  hoy  arranges 
swords  for  the  dance.) 

Companion  :  Ah  !  here's  the  black  boy. 

Master  [smiles)  :   Young  sulks  ! 

Friend  :   What  do  you  keep  him  for  ? 

Master  :    Isn't  he  interesting  ? 

Companion  :  In  his  eyes  there  is  so  much  longing 
for  the  sultry  sun  and  the  sweet  palms,  that 
beside  it  our  sorrows  seem  pale  and  unsub- 
stantial. 

Friend  :   Excellent ! 

Master  [to  Companion)  :    Play  us  something. 

Companion  [to  Friend)  :  But  you  like  music  ? 

Master  :  He  adores  it.  (To  Friend.)  Would  you 
like  to  hear  Mozart  on  the  clavichord  ? 

Friend  :   Perhaps  the  andante  from  the  C  sharp  ? 

Master  :  I  agree.  [Goes  to  the  fire  and  throws  away 
the  halves  of  the  torn  cards.) 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  DESPOT  75 

Friend  :  Listen.  For  the  last  time  I  ask  you  to 
come  back  to  us.  I  can't  believe  that  you  could 
seriously — Lord  !  how  my  head's  turning  from 
the  mead  and  everything  ! 

Master  (coolly)  :  He  who  is  free  from  too  firm 
convictions,  who  has  passed  through  the  school 
of  the  new  Sakya-Muni  and  the  new  Zara- 
thustra,  who  is  far  too  clever  to  be  ashamed  to 
talk  nonsense,  who  so  resembles  an  Olympian 
that  he  is  strong  enough  even  to  laugh  at  others' 
misfortunes — tell  me  on  your  conscience,  what 
should  such  a  man  do  among  wretched,  grey, 
blue-eyed  neurasthenics,  people  who  to-day  or 
to-morrow  will  become  Americans  ! 

Friend  :  H'm. — Certainly,  on  those  conditions — 
H'm — you  know,  it  seems  to  me,  the  dramatic 
upshot  of  your  working  life  would  not  be  so 
terrible  if  you  actually  did  go  mad. 

Master  :   You  think  so  ? 

Friend  :  And  know  this,  whether  you'll  be  angry 
with  me  or  not,  all  the  same  I'll  tell  everybody 
at  Petersburg  that  you're  mad  ! 

Master  :   What  for  ? 

Friend  :  What  for  ?  Can  I  explain  all  this  to 
them,  are  they  capable  of  allowing  for No, 


76  THE  BEAUTIFUL  DESPOT 

it's  impossible.  Well,  what  shall  I  tell  them  ; 
what  shall  I  tell  them  ? 

Master  :  Tell  them  I'm  fastidious — after  that  it's 
just  routine  !  Say  that  I  don't  want  their  life  ! 
Be  it  full  of  all  possible  happiness,  but — life  is 
a  little  twig  of  lilac  seized  in  the  hand  in  the 
search  for  happiness,  many-leaved  happiness. 
Their  life  is  ugly,  withered,  confused,  soiled — in 
short,  it's  the  life  of  the  mob,  though  perhaps  great 
happiness  is  hidden  in  it.  My  life  is  the  twig  of 
lilac  which  no  one  yet  has  touched,  in  which  no 
one  till  me  has  yet  sought  his  happiness 

Friend  :  You  want  them  to  think  I'm  laughing  at 
them. 

Master  :  And  don't  they  deserve  to  be  laughed  at  ? 

Companion  {sitting  at  clavichord)  :  May  I  begin  ? 

Master  :  Please  !  [Companion  plays  the  andante 
cantabile  Jrom  Mozart's  sonata  in  C  sharp.  Friend 
listens  enraptured.  Master  stands  by  the  hearth, 
smiling  sadly.  After  the  first  Jew  bars  oj  the  third 
part  oj  the  andante^ 

Friend  (as  ij  raving  :  Lord  !  Oh,  my  God  !  I'm 
asleep — I  know  it — I'm  asleep  and  can't  wake 
up  !  Divine  Mozart !  You  died  not  long  ago  1 
Oh,  my  head  !     What's  wrong  with  my  heart ; 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  DESPOT  ^y 

why  are  there  tears  in  my  eyes  ? — Divine  Mozart ! 
What  was  far  becomes  near — very  near.  (To 
Master)  I  know  the  worth  of  your  words — they 
were  all  vain — vain — a  game,  a  leap-frog  of 
paradoxes,  a  dazzling  firework  of  crackling 
phrases  !  I  know  you're  wrong,  I  know  that  well, 
but — my  dear  fellow — I — I  feel  for  the  moment 
as  if  you  were  right.  D'you  hear — I  feel  I  under- 
stand it  within  my  mind  and — I'm  ashamed,  I'm 
absurdly  ashamed  to  be  in  this  grey,  this  shiny 
jacket. — Oh,  my  head  ! — It's  burning,  it's  drugged 
with  the  floweriness  of  your  words,  the  theatrical- 
ness  of  your  poses — it's  drunk  with  the  look  of 
this  room.  Your  pathos  is  contagious  !  I've 
become  like  you  !  I've  made  myself  a  faithful 
mirror.  What  herbs,  what  resins  are  you  burn- 
ing ?  Flight !  I  want  to  flee  from  here  !  The 
seduction  is  too  great ;  my  soul  has  become  too 
yielding.  I  don't  want  to  be  infected,  I  don't 
want  to  die,  and  a  life  like  yours  is  the  beginning 
of  death.  You've  heard  how  men  that  are  being 
hanged  or  drowning  or  freezing  see  magic  dreams 
as  they  die.  This  sort  of  life  is  such  a  dream  ; 
this  sort  of  life  is  the  beginning  of  death.  You 
have  separated  from  us,  from  all  society,  from 


y8  THE  BEAUTIFUL  DESPOT 

real  life,  and  an  early  death  is  inevitable  for 
you  ! — It's  all  the  same,  whether  she  comes  as 
madness  or  in  her  usual  guise — it's  inevitable,  I 
tell  you.  This  strong  mead  has  heated  my  head  ; 
who  knows,  perhaps  it  has  made  me  a  prophet. — 
An  early  death  is  inevitable  for  you  !  D'you 
hear,  inevitable  ! 

Master  :   Amen. 

Friend  :  If  you  permit,  I  shall  sleep  here  to-night ; 
I'm  too  tired,  but  early  to-morrow  morning,  at 
sunrise,  give  me  horses,  the  quickest  you  have. 
(A  pause.  Companion  finishes  the  andante. 
Master  kisses  her.) 

Master  [passionately]  :  Hey  !  Begin  !  Androgyne, 
where  are  you  ?  Quick  !  [To  Companion.)  Play  ! 
I  like  that  "  Dance  of  the  Wrathful  Road."  It's 
the  path  of  our  life.  Oh,  don't  joke  !  even  we 
can  be  serious  !  It's  the  path  of  our  life  with 
its  fatal  dangers  !  One  must  be  very  clever  not 
to  suffer  on  this  wrathful  road.  Play,  girl ! 
Grusha,  dance !  Begin !  [Companion  begins 
Bach's  hourree  in  E  sharp.  Fool  and  Arab  laugh 
merrily.    Enter  Maid  and  begins  to  dance.) 

(Curtain) 


THE   CHOICE   OF  A  TUTOR 
By   DENIS   VON   VIZIN 


CHARACTERS 

Count  and  Countess  Weakhead 
Wisely  Flatternot 

The  Young  Count  Nurses 

Countess  Folliest  Pelican 

Servant 


THE   CHOICE   OF  A  TUTOR 

Scene  I 

Countess  Weakhead  {looking  at  the  time)  :  It  has 
only  just  struck  eight.  Why  have  you  risen  so 
early,  Count  ? 

Count  :  In  the  country  it  is  a  good  thing  to  get  up 
a  little  early. 

Countess  :  Yes,  but  not  for  a  count.  Your  highness 
ought  to  live  like  a  count  ;  we  do  not  have  to 
manage  our  affairs  ;  thank  God,  we  own  three 
thousand  souls,  and  it  will  last  our  time  ;  and 
then  I  am  not  educated  to  look  after  things. 

Count  :  True,  Countess  ;  and  I  do  not  know  any- 
one of  your  father's  line  who  would  be  able  to 
manage  affairs.  The  line  of  Whirligigs  is  noble, 
I  agree  ;  but  not  one  Whirligig  can  manage 
affairs. 

Countess  :  Certainly  ;  I,  although  not  a  countess 
in  my  own  right,  am,  however,  of  a  good  family 
G  8i 


82  THE  CHOICE  OF  A  TUTOR 

of  nobles,  and  I  think  that  my  Hne  does  no  dis- 
credit to  the  Hne  of  the  Counts  Weakhead. 

Count  :  Countess,  friend,  I  rose  early  to-day 
because  I  am  concerned  for  the  education  of  our 
Count  Basil.  Everyone  tells  me  that  he  should 
now  have  a  tutor  :  where  will  you  find  one  here 
in  the  country  ? 

Countess  :  It  seems  to  me,  it  would  not  be  a  bad 
thing  to  discuss  it  with  our  marshal.  Although 
he  is  not  very  nice  to  ladies,  yet  for  Count  Basil's 
sake  I  am  ready  to  speak  to  him  ;  I  only  fear 
that  he  will  give  our  son  as  instructor  such  a 
bear  as  himself.  I  mortally  dislike  serious 
faces 

Count  :  I  doubt  w^hether  Mr.  Wisely  be  capable  to 
choose  an  instructor  for  the  son  of  Count  Weak- 
head  and  his  countess,  born  a  Whirligig. 

Countess  :  However  that  may  be,  I  have  already 
sent  for  him.  I  think  that  our  Mr.  Wisely  will  not 
be  too  proud  to  visit  Count  Weakhead.  There, 
he  has  come  already. 

Wisely  (enters)  :  You  were  pleased  to  send  for  me, 
and  I  supposed  that  you  perhaps  called  me  on 
urgent  business,  and  did  not  delay  to  come  to 
you. 


THE  CHOICE  OF  A  TUTOR  83 

Countess  :  I  beg  you  to  take  a  seat  and  converse 
with  us  about  a  very  important  matter. 

Wisely  (sitting)  :  What  can  I  do  ? 

Count  :  We  have  a  son  of  ten  years  ;  we  wish  to 
give  him  a  tutor.  You  are  our  marshal ;  be  so 
kind,  advise  us. 

Wisely  :  The  matter  is  important,  certainly,  as  it 
concerns  the  education  and  consequently  the 
well-being  of  a  young  noble ;  but  it  is  not  such 
an  affair  that  I  need  to  have  come  to  you. 

Count  :  I  feel  that  it  was  my  duty  to  go  to  you 
myself,  but  my  countess  inconsiderately  and 
without  asking  me  sent  for  you ;  excuse  the 
impatience  of  a  countess. 

Wisely  :  I  am  not  at  all  offended ;  on  the  con- 
trary, I  am  pleased  that  you  would  have  come  to 
me  on  this  business.  By  my  position  I  know  all 
our  nobles.  Recently  I  made  the  acquaintance 
of  a  gentleman  who  not  long  ago  bought  a  small 
village  in  our  district — a  Major  Flatternot.  If 
he  were  to  consent  to  educate  your  son,  would 
you  be  pleased  ? 

Count  (after  a  pause)  :   Countess,  speak  ! 

Countess  :  A  Russian  tutor  !  I  do  not  like  that 
very  much. 


84  THE  CHOICE  OF  A  TUTOR 

Count  :   Does  he  know  French  ? 

Wisely  :    Better  than  many  of  those  Frenchmen 

whom  you  would  be  glad   to   receive  in  your 

house. 
Count  :   What  is  his  character  ? 
Wisely  :    His  name  is  Flatternot,  and  he  is  quite 

worthy  of  that  name. 
Countess  (sotto  voce)  :    A  rude  fellow,  I  am  sure. 
Wisely  :   Is  it  really  to  be  rude  not  to  flatter  ? 
Countess  :  Almost. 
Wisely  :    Allow  me  to  assure  you  that  from  the 

person  I  recommend  as  instructor  for  your  son 

you  will  have  neither  rudeness  nor  flattery. 
Count  :    We,  on  our  side,  will  neglect  nothing  to 

show  him  our  respect,  and  will  always  call  him 

"  Your  Honour." 
Wisely  :  That  is,  you  expect  him  every  minute  to 

call  you  "  Your  Highness." 
Countess  :    It  seems  to  me  that  everyone  should 

be  given  his  proper  title. 
Wisely  :    But   you   consent   to   call   him   **  Your 

Honour  "  for  another  reason. 
Count  :   Which  ? 
Wisely  :   So  that  all  should  know  that  your  son's 

tutor  is  a  major. 


THE  CHOICE  OF  A  TUTOR  85 

Countess  :  And  is  that  a  great  thing  ?  My  son  is 
a  count,  and  it  seems  to  me  that  the  major  is  not 
humbling  himself  to  undertake  his  education. 

Wisely  :  Mr.  Flatternot  certainly  will  not  con- 
sider it  a  particular  honour  to  be  tutor  to  your 
son  ;  and  if  he  does  consent  to  undertake  this 
position,  it  will  be  certainly  only  in  order  to  be 
useful  to  a  brother  nobleman. 

Countess  :   I  think,  however,  that  rank  is  merit. 

Wisely  :  The  least  of  all  hiiman  merits.  To  be 
born  a  count  is  not  difficult,  and  one  may  by 
right  of  rank  be  called  "  Highness "  without 
having  high  qualities,  such  as  zealousness  to  be 
useful  to  one's  country.  You,  your  highness  ! 
how  have  you  served  the  country  ? 

Count  :  I  was  a  subaltern  in  the  Guards,  with  a 
captain's  grade  on  retirement. 

Wisely  :  Do  not  you  yourself  show  the  vanity  of 
your  rank  as  count  ?  I  wager  that  your  son,  if 
he  is  taught  by  Mr.  Flatternot,  will  have  quite 
another  sort  of  ideas,  and  will  be  worthy  of  the 
honour  which  the  path  of  nature  opens  to  him. 

Count  :  I  was  unlucky  in  my  service.  I  could  not 
reach  major,  and  am  now  obliged  to  nag  about 
the  country. 


86  THE  CHOICE  OF  A  TUTOR 

Countess  (sotto  voce)  :    This  man  is  irritating  me  ! 

If  Mr.  Flatternot  reached  major,  I  think  he  will 

teach  my  son  to  reach  the  same. 
Wisely  :    Have  no  doubt  of  that ;    he  will  teach 

your  son  to  receive  promotion  in  the  service  of  his 

country,  and  not  by  bowing  in  great  gentlemen's 

antechambers. 
Countess  :   Maid  !    Call  Count  Basil  here. 
Maid  :  He  is  not  pleased  to  come. 
Count  :   Ask  him  from  us.     {Enter  the  young  Count 

and  nurses.) 
Nurse  :   Come  here,  Count  dear. 
Second  Nurse  :   Please  come  here,  your  highness  ! 
Third  Nusre  :   Your  hand,  please,  your  highness  ! 
Young  Count  (running  up  to  her  and  giving  his 

hand)  :  There,  kiss  it. 
Countess  :   Count  Basil,  friend,  embrace  me. 
Young  Count  [holding  out  his  hand  to  her)  :  There, 

mother.    [Holding  out  his  hand  to  Wisely.)    There. 
Wisely  :  I,  friend,  do  not  intend  to  kiss  your  paw  ; 

give  it  to  the  Count,  your  father. 
Count  :   And  I  don't  want  to. 
Young  Count  :    Why  ?     You  kissed  it  yesterday, 

father. 
Count  :   Shame  before  a  strange  person. 


THE  CHOICE  OF  A  TUTOR  ^7 

Countess  :  Shame  to  love  one's  son  ? 

Wisely  :   Shame  to  spoil  one's  son. 

Countess  :  You  see,  sir,  that  we  are  educating  our 

son  as  seems  proper. 
Wisely  :    I  see  only  that  you  are  driving  ever- 
lastingly "  Your  Highness  *'  into  his  head. 
Countess  :  And  it  is  proper  to  call  him  what  he  is. 
Wisely  :   He  is  a  child. 
Countess  :   And  of  what  line  ? 
Wisely  :  A  Weakhead. 
Countess  :  I  hope  that  he  has  much  of  his  father's 

blood  in  him. 
Wisely  :  That  is,  the  Weakheads'. 
Countess  :  And  of  his  mother's  ?    {The  young  Count 

turns  away.) 
Wisely  :   There,  that  is  your  line,  the  Whirligigs. 
Countess  :    Count   Basil   is   very   lovable,   is    he 

not? 
Wisely  :   I  do  not  know  if  he  is  lovable,  but  I  see 

that  he  is  much  loved  by  you. 
Count  :    I  am  curious  to  be  acquainted  with  Mr. 

Flatternot.    When  could  that  be  ? 
Wisely  :  Now,  if  you  wish. 
Countess  :  You  would  much  oblige  us. 
Wisely  [going  out)  :  I  will  drive  to  him  at  once. 


88  THE  CHOICE  OF  A  TUTOR 

Count  :  I  think  the  marshal  will  soon  bring  us  Mr. 
Flatternot. 

Countess  :  I  can  imagine  no  good  from  it,  and,  to 
be  sure,  I  should  be  furious  with  regret  to  hand 
over  Count  Basil  to  the  hands  of  a  Russian  lout, 
like  Flatternot. 

Count  :  It  will  be  in  our  will  to  take  Flatternot  or 
reject  him. 

Countess  :  Count,  friend,  let  us  go  to  our  apart- 
ments, that  our  expected  guests  should  await  us 
half  an  hour  and  see  that  they  have  come  to  your 
highness. 

Count  :  For  Heaven's  sake,  don't  advise  me  that, 
if  you  do  not  wish  to  be  a  widow  quickly. 

Countess  :   But  why  ? 

Count  :  Mr.  Flatternot,  as  I  see  it,  is  a  man  of 
merit,  and  certainly,  being  a  major,  does  not  wish 
to  wait  in  a  captain's  anteroom  ;  he  will  get 
furious  and  cut  me  up. 

Countess  :  He  dares  not  do  this  before  the  marshal. 

Count  :  Well,  you  see,  madame,  that  to-day  rank 
alone  is  not  much  respected,  and  people  who 
value  it  highly  are  thought  fools  ;  and  is  Flatter- 
not likely  to  contain  himself  for  the  marshal  when 


THE  CHOICE  OF  A  TUTOR  89 

Mr.  Wisely  said  to  me  himself,  "  There's  no  pray- 
ing for  fools  ?  " 

Countess  :  I  cherish  the  hope  that  we  shall  get 
through  without  Flatternot.  I  received  a  letter 
to-day  from  Countess  FoUiest.  She  recommends 
me  a  French  tutor,  a  Mr.  Pelican,  and  we  shall 
engage  him. 

Count  :  But  first  well  have  a  look  at  Flatternot. 

Countess  :   Maybe  ;   I  consent. 

Servant  (entering)  :  Your  highness,  the  marshal 
has  come  with  a  strange  gentleman. 

Count  :  I'll  go  to  meet  him ;  but  you,  Countess, 
receive  them  here. 


Scene  II 

Count  :  Countess,  this  is  Mr.  Flatternot.  Mr. 
Flatternot,  my  wife. 

Flatternot  (kissing  Countess's  hand)  :  I  recom- 
mend myself  to  your  highnesses'  favour  as  a 
neighbour  and  nobleman  of  these  parts. 

Count  :  I  beg  you  to  be  seated.  Our  respected 
marshal,  no  doubt,  has  already  told  you  of  our 
desire,  just  as  we  heard  from  him  of  your  pro- 
posal to  take  charge  of  a  young  nobleman  ? 


go  THE  CHOICE  OF  A  TUTOR 

Flatternot  :  He  has  informed  me  of  everything ; 
but  beforehand  I  ought  to  hear  from  you  your- 
selves what  education  you  intend  to  give  your 
son  :  what  you  wish  to  teach  him,  and  to  pre- 
pare him  for  which  service  ? 

Count  :  I  wished  to  hear  of  this  from  you. 

Flatternot  :  I  should  think  to  educate  his  mind 
as  is  fitting  for  a  nobleman. 

Countess  :  Of  the  rank  of  count ! 

Flatternot  :  I  do  not  understand  ;  what  differ- 
ence do  you  find  between  the  rank  of  nobleman 
and  count  ? 

Countess  :  I  find,  sir,  this  difference,  that  a  count 
should  be  more  careful  than  a  nobleman  that  no 
one  is  lacking  in  respect  of  him. 

Count  :    A  count  should  be  more  delicate  than  a 
nobleman  on  the  point  of  his  honour.  .  .  . 
(A  page  is  missing  here  in  the  original  manuscript.) 

Countess  :  But  I  thought  that  nature  and  rank 
were  the  same  thing. 

Wisely  :  You  hear,  madame,  that  a  natural  count 
may  be  also  a  natural  fool. 

Countess  :  And  so  Mr.  Flatternot  is  not  pleased 
that  our  son  should  know  he  is  a  count,  and  does 
not  wish  to  give  him  the  title  of  "  Highness." 


THE  CHOICE  OF  A  TUTOR  91 

Flatternot  :  I  would  not  take  upon  myself  the 
sin — do  not  be  angry  with  me — ^to  turn  a  little 
boy's  head,  like  your  son's,  with  fancies  about  his 
count  ship,  highness,  and  similar  folly ;  but  I  shall 
strive  hard  to  set  into  his  head  and  heart  that  he, 
being  of  noble  birth,  should  possess,  also,  a  noble 
mind. 

Countess  :  And  that  is  not  a  bad  thing.  But  what 
are  you  thinking  about,  Count  ? 

Count  :  I  am  thinking  of  what  I  hear,  and  can 
think  about  nothing ;  I  know  it's  dinner-time,  and 
I  beg  you,  marshal,  and  you,  sir,  to  dine  with  me. 

Flatternot  :  At  your  service. 

Servant  :   Dinner  is  served. 

Count:   Come. 

Scene  III 

Countess  (alone)  :  Thank  Heaven  that  dinner  is 
over  !  I  have  come  here  to  rest  from  the  con- 
versation of  the  marshal  and  Flatternot  ;  Heaven 
protect  us  from  such  fault-finders  !  At  dinner  I 
received  a  letter  from  Countess  Folliest ;  I  did 
not  manage  to  read  it ;  now  I'll  read  it  at  my 
leisure.  (Reads.)  "  Dear  Countess, — If  you 
wish,  you  can  take  Mr.  Pelican  now  as  tutor  for 


92  THE  CHOICE  OF  A  TUTOR 

Count  Basil.  The  Frenchman  is  full  of  abihties  ; 
he  draws  teeth  expertly  and  cuts  corns."  Oh, 
what  luck  !  He  can  cut  corns  too,  and  I  so  want 
some  one  !  *'  He  will  take  a  moderate  salary, 
and  will  call  you,  Countess,  as  well  as  the  Count  : 
votre  altesse  !  "     {Enter  Count.) 

Countess  :  Oh,  my  dear  Count !  Countess  Folliest 
is  doing  us  a  great  favour  ;  she  has  found  a  tutor 
for  Count  Basil  who  can  also  draw  teeth  and  cut 
corns  ;  and,  what  is  most  important,  he  will  call 
us  :    votre  altesse  ! 

Count  :  What  could  be  better  ?  [Enter  Wisely  and 
Flatter  not,) 

Count  :   What  would  you  wish  to  teach  my  son  ? 

Flatternot  :  First  of  all,  the  principles  of  the 
faith  in  which  he  was  born. 

Countess  :   And  dancing  ? 

Flatternot  :    You  are  pleased  to  joke. 

Count  :    And  what  foreign  languages  ? 

Flatternot  :   I  begin  with  Latin. 

Countess  :   But  is  he  to  be  a  priest  ? 

Flatternot  :   But  is  Latin  only  fit  for  priests  ? 

Count  :  I  do  not  know  why  a  count's  son  should 
learn  Latin. 


THE  CHOICE  OF  A  TUTOR  93 

Flatternot  :     Because   it   is   the   root   of   many 

languages. 
Countess  :   Well,  I  never. 
Count  {to  her)  :    Do  not  forget  to  send  an  answer 

quickly  to  Countess  FoUiest. 
Countess  :   At  once.    We  will  come  back  at  once. 

Excuse  us  that  we  have  to  send  off  a  postilion  to 

our  neighbour. 
Flatternot  :  At  your  service.    (Exeunt  Count  and 

Countess.) 
Wisely  :   Do  you  find  the  Count's  household  as  I 

described  it  to  you  ? 
Flatternot  :   Exactly.    But  it  seems  to  me  I  am 

already  beginning  to  be  a  burden  to  them. 
Wisely  :    Yes,  and  they  do  not  seem  to  be  very 

contented  with  me.      {To  Servant.)     Have  my 

carriage  got  ready,  friend.     {To  Flatternot.)     We 

can  go  away  at  once. 
Countess  {entering,  to  Count)  :    I  have  invited  the 

Countess    herself    with    Pelican ;    maybe  Count 

Basil  will  have  a  tutor  after  our  heart. 
Count  {aloud)  :  Here  we  are,  gentlemen.    We  have 

hurried  back  to  enjoy  your  conversation. 
Flatternot  :  A  great  honour. 


94  THE  CHOICE  OF  A  TUTOR 

Countess  :  I  wanted  to  ask  you,  Mr.  Wisely,  do 
you  think  it  would  be  good  to  send  our  son  to 
France  in  ten  years'  time  ? 

Wisely  :  You  are  looking  far  ahead,  madame.  We 
do  not  know  whether  in  ten  years'  time  there 
will  be  anyone  to  send  or  anyone  to  send 
him  to. 

Flatternot  :  And  I  say  in  addition  that  we  cannot 
foresee  whether  in  ten  years'  time  France  itself 
will  exist  if  the  French  gentlemen  do  not  soon 
cease  their  runnings  about. 

Wisely  :  There  is  what  a  kingdom  has  come  to, 
which  all  Europe  for  so  many  years  has  wished  to 
imitate  in  everything.  When  I  read  descriptions 
of  the  ruinous  condition  of  France,  I  should  like 
to  know  against  which  political  rule  the  French 
aim  in  establishing  equality  of  condition. 

Count  :  I  do  not  understand  it. 

Wisely  (to  Flatternot)  :  I  have  not  happened  to 
speak  with  you  of  this  ;  I  should  like  to  know 
your  opinion  of  it. 

Flatternot  :  I  do  not  undertake  at  all  to  decide 
your  question  ;  but  I  am  ready  to  offer  my 
opinion  for  your  judgment.  Here  it  is  :  nowhere 
and  never  have  been  or  can  be  such  laws  as  would 


THE  CHOICE  OF  A  TUTOR  95 

make  every  individual  man  happy.  It  is  indis- 
pensably necessary  that  one  part  of  the  subjects 
should  sacrifice  something  for  the  sake  of  the 
whole  kingdom  ;  consequently  there  cannot  be 
equality  of  position.  That  is  the  invention  of 
the  lying  philosophers  who  by  their  eloquent 
intellectualisms  have  led  the  French  to  their 
present  situation.  They,  desiring  to  avert  the 
abuse  of  power,  are  endeavouring  to  destroy  the 
form  of  government  by  which  France  has  at- 
tained all  her  glory.  For  all  this,  however  much 
the  attempt  may  and  will  cost  them,  they  will 
never  attain  an  equality  of  situation,  whatever 
laws  they  make  ;  for  one  part  of  the  subjects  will 
always  require  the  sacrifice  of  another.  That  is 
what  I  think  of  the  present  French  legislation. 

Wisely  :  But  if  there  cannot  be  laws  to  make 
every  individual  man  happy,  then  what  sort  of 
legislation  is  left  ? 

Flatternot  :  It  remains  to  calculate  that  the 
number  of  sacrifices  should  be  proportionate  to 
the  number  of  those  for  whose  happiness  sacrifices 
are  made. 

Wisely  :  So  a  legislator  ought  to  be  a  great 
calculator. 


96  THE  CHOICE  OF  A  TUTOR 

. _j 

Flatternot  :  But  these  political  calculations  de- 
mand a  far  more  excellent  mind  than  is  wanted 
for  mathematical  calculations.  You  can  value 
a  hundred  Eulers  for  one  Colbert  and  a  thousand 
Colberts  for  one  Montesquieu. 

Wisely  :   But  why  ? 

Flatternot  :  Because  in  mathematics  from  one 
certainty  one  goes  on  to  another  mechanically,  so 
to  speak,  and  the  mathematician  has  before  him 
all  the  discoveries  of  his  predecessors  ;  he  needs 
to  have  only  patience  and  ability  to  use  them  ; 
but  previous  discoveries  do  not  lead  the  politician 
on  the  right  path.  The  mathematician  reckons 
with  figures,  the  politician  with  passions  ;  in  a 
word,  the  political  sense  is  and  ought  to  be 
incomparably  higher  and  is  much  more  rarely 
met  with  than  the  mathematical. 

Wisely  :  Oh,  how  blessed  is  that  land  where 
such  a  rare  political  sense  sits  upon  the 
throne  ! 

Flatternot  :  And  how  happy  those  who  are 
citizens  of  such  a  land  !  (To  the  Count.)  Of 
what  are  you  thinking.  Count  ? 

Count  :  I  do  not  understand  anything  of  what  you 
both  were  talking  about. 


THE   CHOICE  OF  A  TUTOR  97 

Wisely  :   And  have  you  heard  that  there  are  now 

no  counts  in  France  ? 
Countess  :   That  is  almost  incredible  ;    I  did  hear 

something,  but  I  could  not  believe  it. 
Wisely  :  Do  you  really  not  understand  the  French 

troubles  ? 
Count  :    I  believe  that  they  are  great  if  they  put 

counts  on  the  same  level  as  other  people. 
Flatternot  :    When  your  son  goes  to  France,  he 

will  not  be  a  count. 
Countess  :   Then  I  shall  not  send  him  there — not 

for  anything  ! 
Servant  (enters)  :  Countess  Folliest  has  been  pleased 

to  come,  with  a  stranger. 
Countess  :    I  go  to  meet  the  benefactress  of  our 

house.    (Countess  Folliest  enters.) 
Both  Countesses  :  Your  highness  ! 
Countess  Folliest  :  I  present  Mr.  Pehcan  to  you. 
Pelican  (grimacing)  :   Votre  altesse  ! 
Countess  Folliest  :  Here  is  a  tutor  for  your  son, 

dear  Countess. 
Pelican  (grimacing)  :   Votre  altesse  ! 
Wisely  :   I  know  that  ugly  face. 
Pelican  (sees  Wisely  and  runs  away,  shrieking)  :   I 

don't  want  be  here,  I  don't ! 

H 


98  THE  CHOICE  OF  A  TUTOR 

Countess  Folliest  :  What  has  happened  to  him  ? 

Wisely:  I  will  solve  the  riddle  for  you.  That 
empty-headed  Frenchman  was  a  nurse's  assistant 
in  an  almshouse  in  France  ;  he  can  draw  teeth 
and  cut  corns — nothing  else.  He  came  to  Russia, 
and  I  found  him  in  another  neighbourhood,  where 
I  have  an  estate,  among  the  teachers  of  young 
noblemen.  I  considered  it  my  duty  to  inform 
the  Governor  of  this,  and  he,  thinking  such  vaga- 
bonds harmful  to  the  country,  cleared  him  out 
on  my  representation,  and  therefore,  when  he 
saw  me  here,  he  ran  away,  fearing  evidently  that 
I  shall  clear  him  out  by  the  neck  again.  How- 
ever that  may  be,  I  shall  see  the  Governor  to- 
morrow and  endeavour  to  remove  him  from  our 
district  in  twenty-four  hours. 

Countess  :  Marshal,  moderate  your  strictness  at 
our  request. 

Wisely  :  Countess,  you  are  free  to  follow  or  not 
follow  my  advice  as  to  the  education  of  your  son 
by  the  person  I  have  introduced  to  you ;  but  I, 
as  marshal  of  the  nobility,  cannot  endure  that 
such  a  rascal  should  be  in  our  midst  to  corrupt 
the  hearts  and  heads  of  young  noblemen. 

Countess  {to  herself)  :  If  I  had  thought,  by  sending 


THE  CHOICE  OF  A  TUTOR  99 

for  the  marshal  to  find  an  instructor  for  our  son, 
we  would  lose  through  him  a  competent  tutor 
who  would  come  into  the  room  and  give  us  our 
due  at  once  by  calling  me  and  my  husband,  votre 
altesse  ! 

Countess  Folliest  :  Why  is  the  marshal  at  your 
house  ? 

Flatternot  :  I  came  here  on  the  invitation  of  the 
marshal,  who  is  zealous  for  the  advantage  of 
noblemen  ;  but  now  I  shall  not  consent  for  any- 
thing in  the  world  to  be  the  instructor  of  a  boy 
whose  parents  are  infected  entirely  by  fancies 
about  rank. 

Wisely  {to  Count  and  Countess)  :  Your  humble 
servant !    In  advance,  do  not  expect  me  again. 

Count  :   As  you  wish. 

Countess  :  Countess,  let  us  go  to  our  apartments. 
[Exeunt  Count  and  Countesses.) 

Flatternot  :  Queer  people  !  Tell  me,  what  guides 
their  thoughts  and  deeds  ? 

Wisely  :  What  guides  them  ?    Silly  pride. 

(Curtain) 


THE  WEDDING 
By    ANTON    CH^HOV 


CHARACTERS 

Aplombov  Dashenka 

JiGALOv  Mrs.  Jigalov 

Miss  Zmewkin       Yat 

DiMBA  MOZGOVY 

Captain  Revunov-Karayijlov 
M.C.  Newnin 

Guests  Waiters 


THE  WEDDING 

(A  brightly  lit  room,  with  a  big  table  laid  for  supper. 
Around  the  table  bustle  waiters  in  frock-coats .  The 
last  figure  of  a  quadrille  can  be  heard.  Enter  Miss 
Zmewkin — accoucheuse,  thirty  years  old,  in  a  bright 
scarlet  dress — Mr.  Yat,  and  the  Master  of  Cere- 
monies.   They  pass  across  the  stage.) 

Zmewkin  :  No  !    No  !    No  ! 

Yat  [following)  :   Be  merciful !    Be  merciful ! 

Zmewkin  :  No  !    No  !    No  ! 

Master  of  Ceremonies  (hurrying  after  them)  : 
Please,  you  mustn't,  you  mustn't  !  Where  are 
you  going  ?  But  the  grand-chain,  silvooplay. 
(Exeunt.  Enter  Mrs.  N astasia  Jigalov,  mother  of 
the  bride,  and  Aplombov,  the  bridegroom.) 

Nastasia  :  Instead  of  worrying  me  with  all  your 
talk,  you'd  do  better  to  go  and  dance  ! 

Aplombov  :  I'm  not  Spinosa  anyhow,  to  make 
cracknels  of  my  legs.    I'm  a  man  of  position  and 

103 


104  THE  WEDDING 

character,  and  I  don't  find  any  distraction  in 
empty  pleasures.  But  this  has  nothing  to  do  with 
dancing.  Excuse  me,  Mama,  but  I  don't  under- 
stand a  lot  of  your  behaviour.  For  instance, 
besides  all  the  things  for  the  house,  you  promised 
to  give  me  your  two  lottery-tickets  with  your 
daughter.    Where  are  they  ? 

Nastasia  :  How  my  head  aches  ! — If  this  weather 
keeps  on,  there  ought  to  be  a  thaw. 

Aplombov  :  You  won't  wear  my  teeth  out  with 
talking  !  I  found  out  to-day  that  your  tickets 
were  pledged  at  the  bank.  Excuse  me.  Mama, 
but  only  exploiters  behave  like  that.  Now,  I'm 
not  speaking  from  selfishness — I  don't  want  your 
tickets  ! — ^but  from  principle  ;  I  don't  let  any- 
body deceive  me.  I've  made  your  daughter 
happy,  and,  if  you  don't  hand  me  over  those 
tickets  to-day,  I'll  eat  your  daughter  with 
pudding  !     I'm  a  man  of  noble  feelings. 

Nastasia  {looking  at  the  table  and  counting  the 
places)  :   One,  two,  three,  four,  five 

Servant  :  The  cook  wants  to  know  how  you  order 
the  ices  to  be  served,  with  rum,  with  madeira, 
or  without  anything. 

Aplombov  :    With  rum.   And  tell  the  proprietor 


THE  WEDDING  105 

there's  only  a  little  wine.  Tell  him  to  send  up 
some  Haut-Sauterne.  (To  N astasia.)  And  you 
promised  and  we  agreed  that  a  general  would  be 
at  the  supper  to-night.  Where  is  he,  I  should  like 
to  know. 

Nastasia  :  It's  not  my  fault,  my  dear  ! 

Aplombov  :  Whose,  then  ? 

Nastasia  :  Andrew's  fault.  Yesterday  he  was 
here  and  promised  to  bring  a  real  general.  {Sighs.) 
He  can't  have  found  one  or  he'd  have  brought 
him.  You  don't  think  we  begrudge  the  expense  ? 
We  grudge  our  children  nothing.  But,  after  all, 
what's  a  general ! 

Aplombov  :  Well  again,  surely  you  knew.  Mama, 
that  this  telegraph  fellow,  Yat,  was  running  after 
Dashenka  until  I  proposed  to  her  ?  Why  did 
you  invite  him  ?  Didn't  you  really  know  that 
he's  an  enemy  of  mine  ? 

Nastasia  :  Oh,  Epaminondas,  what's  the  matter 
with  you  ?  The  wedding-day  isn't  over  yet  and 
already  you're  tiring  me  and  Dashenka  to  death 
with  your  talking.  What  will  it  be  like  as  time 
goes  on  ?    You're  wearisome,  wearisome. 

Aplombov  :  It  isn't  nice  to  hear  the  truth  ?  Ha, 
ha.    There  you  are.    But  act  nobly !    Only  one 


io6  THE  WEDDING 


thing  I  ask  of  you — be  noble  !  [Through  the  room, 
from  one  door  to  the  other  couples  pass,  dancing  the 
grand-chain.  The  first  couple  is  Dashenka  and  the 
Master  of  Ceremonies,  behind  them  Yat  and  Z mew- 
kin.  They  stop  dancing  and  stay  in  the  room. 
Enter  Jigalov  and  Dimba,  and  go  to  the  table.) 

Master  of  Ceremonies  :  Promenade !  Messieu's, 
promenade !  [Off.)  Promenade !  [Exeunt  the 
couples.) 

Yat  :  Be  merciful !  Be  merciful,  enchanting  Miss 
Zmewkin  ! 

Zmewkin  :  Oh  !  what  a  man  you  are  !  I've  told 
you  already  I'm  not  in  voice. 

Yat  :  I  entreat  you,  sing  !  Only  one  note  !  Be 
merciful !    Only  one  note  ! 

Zmewkin  :  I'm  tired.  [Sits  down  and  fans  her- 
self.) 

Yat  :  No,  you're  simply  pitiless !  Such  an  in- 
human creature,  permit  me  to  use  the  expression, 
and  such  a  wonderful,  wonderful  voice.  With  a 
voice  like  that,  excuse  the  expression,  you  ought 
not  to  be  an  accoucheuse,  but  singing  at  public 
concerts.  For  instance,  how  divinely  the  trills 
emerge  from  you  in  that  one  [sings)  :  *'  I  loved 
you,  my  love  is  yet  in  vain." — Wonderful ! 


THE  WEDDING  107 

Zmewkin  (sings)  :  "I  loved  you,  perhaps  I  still 
may  love.'* — ^That  one  ? 

Yat  :  That's  the  one  !    Wonderful ! 

Zmewkin  :  No,  I'm  not  in  voice  to-day.  Take  my 
fan,  fan  me  ;  it's  so  hot.  (To  Aplomhov.)  Why 
are  you  so  melancholy  ?  Can  a  bridegroom  really 
be  like  that  ?  Aren't  you  ashamed,  you  con- 
trary man  ?    What  are  you  thinking  about  ? 

Aplombov  :  Marriage  is  a  serious  step.  You 
have  to  consider  everything  from  all  points  of 
view 

Zmewkin  :  How  contrary  you  all  are !  What 
sceptics  !  Beside  you  I  feel  stifled  !  Give  me 
atmosphere !  Do  you  hear  ?  Give  me  atmo- 
sphere !    (Sings.) 

Yat  :   Wonderful.    Wonderful ! 

Zmewkin  :  Fan  me,  fan  me  !  I  feel  my  heart  is 
just  going  to  break.  Tell  me,  please  ;  why  do 
I  feel  so  hot  ? 

Yat  :  Because  you  perspire. 

Zmewkin  :  Pfui !  What  a  vulgar  creature  you  are  ! 
Don't  dare  speak  to  me  like  that ! 

Yat  :  I  beg  your  pardon.  You  have  been  used,  I 
know,  to,  excuse  the  expression,  aristocratic 
company,  and 


io8  THE  WEDDING 

Zmewkin  :  Oh !  let  me  be !  Give  me  poetry, 
ecstasy  !    Fan  me  !    Fan  me  ! 

JiGALOV  {to  Dimha)  :  We'll  have  another,  eh  ?  I 
can  drink  any  time.  The  chief  thing,  Dimba, 
is  not  to  forget  one's  affairs.  Drink,  and  under- 
stand your  affairs  !  And  as  for  drinking,  why 
not  drink  ?  Drinking's  allowed  ;  your  health  ! 
{Drinks.)    Tell  me,  have  you  got  tigers  in  Greece  ? 

Dimba  :  Yes. 

JiGALOV  :  And  lions  ? 

Dimba  :  Yes,  lions  too.  In  Russia  there  is 
nothing,  but  in  Greece  everything.  My  father's 
there  and  my  uncle  and  my  brothers,  and  here 
nothing. 

JiGALOV  :   But  have  you  got  whales  in  Greece  ? 

Dimba  :  WeVe  everything  there. 

N ASTASIA  {to  her  husband)  :  Why  all  this  random 
drinking  and  eating  ?  It's  time  we  all  sat  down. 
Don't  stick  a  fork  in  the  lobster  !  It's  for  the 
general.    Perhaps  he'll  come  after  all. 

JiGALOV  :  Have  you  got  lobsters  in  Greece  ? 

Dimba  :  Yes,  we've  everything  there. 

Zmewkin  :  I'm  just  thinking — what  atmosphere  in 
Greece  ! 

JiGALOV  :   And  probably  a  lot  of  trickery.    Greeks 


THE  WEDDING  109 

are  all  just  the  same  as  Armenians  and  gypsies. 
They'll  give  you  a  sponge  or  a  goldfish,  but  all 
the  time  they're  watching  their  chance  to  relieve 
you  of  your  superfluities.  We'll  have  another, 
eh? 

N ASTASIA  :  What  are  all  these  anothers  ?  It's 
time  we  all  sat  down.    It's  twelve  o'clock. 

JiGALOV :  Sit  down,  then,  sit  down !  (Calls.) 
Ladies  and  gentlemen,  I  humbly  entreat  you. 
Please.     Supper  !     Young  people  ! 

Nastasia  :   Welcome,  dear  guests.    Be  seated. 

Zmewkin  {sits  at  the  table)  :  Give  me  poetry  !  "  But 
ah  !  the  rebel,  sought  the  storm,  as  in  the  storm 
were  peace."    Give  me  storm  ! 

Yat  (aside)  :  Remarkable  woman  !  I'm  in  love — 
up  to  the  ears  in  love  !  (Enter  the  company.  They 
take  their  seats  noisily  at  the  table  ;  a  minute's 
pause,  the  band  plays  a  march.) 

MozGOVY  (in  the  uniform  of  a  naval  volunteer, 
rising)  :  Ladies  and  gentlemen  !  I  must  tell  you 
this  ;  there  are  many  toasts  and  speeches  waiting 
for  us.  We  won't  wait.  We'll  begin  at  once. 
Ladies  and  gentlemen,  I  ask  you  to  drink  a  toast 
to  the  bride  and  bridegroom.  (The  band  plays  a 
flourish.    "  Hurrah  !  "    Clinking  of  glasses.) 


no  THE  WEDDING 

MozGOVY  :   It's  bitter  ! 

All  :  Bitter  !  Bitter  !  [Aplomhov  and  Dashenka 
kiss.) 

Yat  :  Wonderful,  wonderful !  I  must  express  to 
you,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  with  the  utmost 
veracity,  that  this  room  and  the  place  in  general 
are  magnificent.  Superlatively  enchanting. — 
But  do  you  know  why  it  does  not  partake  of  a 
complete  triumph  ?  There's  no  electric  light, 
excuse  the  expression.  Electric  light  has  been 
introduced  already  in  all  countries  ;  only  Russia 
is  left  behind. 

JiGALOV  (thoughtfully)  :  Electric — ^h'm.  But  to  my 
idea,  electric  light  is  just  trickery.  They  put  a 
little  bit  of  coal  there  and  think  they  can  deceive 
your  eyes  with  it.  No,  friend,  if  you  give  light, 
then  don't  give  coal,  but  something  real,  some- 
thing special,  something  you  can  take  hold  of. 
Give  a  light,  you  understand,  a  light  which  is 
something  and  not  simply  an  idea. 

Yat  :  If  only  you  were  to  see  what  an  electric 
battery  is  composed  of,  you'd  think  differently. 

JiGALOV  :  I  don't  want  to  see  it.  Trickery  !  They 
deceive  simple  folk,  and  squeeze  them  to  the  last 
drop.    We  know  that  sort  of  people.    And  you, 


THE  WEDDING  iii 

young  man,  instead  of  defending  trickery,  would 
have  done  better  to  drink  and  pour  out  for  others. 
That's  the  truth  ! 

Aplombov  :  I  quite  agree  with  you,  dear  papa. 
Why  introduce  scientific  discourses  ?  I  myself 
am  ready  to  speak  about  certain  discoveries, 
but  then  there's  another  time  for  that.  (To 
Dashenka.)    What's  your  opinion,  ma  chere  ? 

Dashenka  :  They  like  to  show  their  education  and 
always  speak  about  something  one  can't  under- 
stand. 

N ASTASIA  :  Heavens  !  We  have  lived  our  time 
without  education,  and  now  we're  marrying  our 
third  daughter  to  a  fine  husband.  If  you  think 
we  are  uneducated,  why  do  you  come  to  us  ? 
Be  off  with  your  education  ! 

Yat  :  Madame,  I  always  take  your  family  into  con- 
sideration, and  if  I  spoke  about  electric  light  it 
does  not  signify  that  I  did  so  from  pride.  Your 
healths !  I  always  with  all  my  heart  wished 
Dashenka  a  good  husband.  It  is  hard  nowadays, 
Madame,  to  find  a  good  man.  Nowadays  every- 
one watches  his  chance  to  marry  for  interest,  for 
money 

Aplombov  :  That  is  an  insinuation  ! 


112  THE  WEDDING 

Yat  [fearfully)  :  No,  there's  no  allusion  to  any- 
body !  Fm  not  speaking  of  present  company. 
I  was  speaking  just  in  general — please  !  I  know 
well  that  you  married  for  love  and  the  dowry's 
nothing. 

Nastasia  :  No,  it  isn't  nothing  !  Don't  forget  your- 
self, sir,  when  you  speak  !  Beside  a  thousand 
roubles  in  actual  coin,  we  are  giving  three  sets 
of  furs,  bedding  and  all  the  furniture.  Just  see  if 
other  people  give  dowries  like  that. 

Yat  :  I  don't  mean  anything — the  furniture  is 
really  beautiful  and — and  the  furs  certainly — but 
I  mean  they  took  offence  that  I  made  insinua- 
tions. 

Nastasia  :  Don't  make  insinuations  !  We  respect 
you  for  your  parents  and  we  mvited  you  to  the 
wedding,  but  you  say  all  sorts  of  things.  And 
if  you  knew  that  Epaminondas  was  marrying  for 
interest,  why  did  you  say  nothing  beforehand  ? 
(Weeps.)  Perhaps — I  have  nourished  her  and 
cared  for  her  and  looked  after  her — I  should  have 
guarded  better  my  emerald,  my  jewel,  my 
daughter 

Aplombov  :  You  believe  him  ?  I  most  humbly 
thank  you  !     I'm  very  grateful  indeed  to  you. 


THE  WEDDING  113 

{To  Yat.)  As  for  you,  Mr.  Yat,  although  you  are 
an  acquaintance  of  mine,  I  don't  allow  you  to 
behave  so  badly  in  a  strange  house.  Have  the 
goodness  to  go  away  ! 

Yat  :   What's  the  matter  ? 

Aplombov  :  I  wish  you  were  as  honourable  as  I 
am !     In  short,  have  the  goodness  to  go  away  ! 

Gentlemen  (to  Aplombov)  :  Now,  stop  !  Remember 
where  you  are  !    Never  mind  !    Sit  down  !    Stop  ! 

Yat  :  I  didn't  mean  anything — You  know,  I — I 
don't  understand.  Excuse  me,  I'm  going.  Only 
give  me  first  the  five  roubles  you  owe  me  from 
last  year  for  the  waistcoat,  excuse  the  expres- 
sion. Your  health  again  and — and  I'm  going  ; 
only  first  pay  me  what  you  owe. 

Gentlemen  :  Now,  let  it  be,  let  it  be.  Enough ! 
Is  all  this  nonsense  worth  while  ? 

Master  of  Ceremonies  (loudly)  :  To  the  health 
of  the  parents  of  the  bride,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Jigalov  ! 
(Band  plays  a  flourish.    "  Hurrah.") 

Jigalov  {bows  with  emotion  on  all  sides)  :  Thank 
you,  dear  guests.  I  am  very  grateful  to  you  not 
to  have  forgotten  us  and  to  have  been  good  enough 
not  to  ignore  us.  And  don't  think  I've  got  crafty 
in  my  old  age,  or  that  there's  any  trickery  ;  I  say 


114  THE  WEDDING 

simply  my  feelings,  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart. 

I  grudge  nothing  to  good  people.     We  humbly 

thank  you.    {Kisses  all  round.) 
Dashenka  {to  her  mother)  :  Mama  dear,  why  are  you 

crying  ?    I  am  so  happy. 
Aplombov  :  Mama  is  upset  at  the  separation.    But 

I  would  advise  her  instead  to  remember  our 

recent  conversation  ! 
Yat  :   Don't  cry,  Madame  !    You  think  that  such 

tears  are  natural  ?     Not  at  all,  simply  a  low- 
spirited  nervous  system 

JiGALOV  :  And  are  there  chestnuts  in  Greece  ? 
Dimba  :  Yes,  there's  everything  there. 
JiGALOV  :  But  not  mushrooms. 
Dimba  :   Yes,  mushrooms  too.    Everything  ! 
MozGOVY  :    Mr.  Dimba,  it's  your  turn  to  make  a 

speech.    Ladies  and  gentlemen,  allow  Mr.  Dimba 

to  make  a  speech. 
All  {to  Dimba)  :  Speech  !    Speech  !    Your  turn  ! 
Dimba  :    What  for  ?     I  don't  understand  what — 

what's  the  matter  ? 
JiGALOV  :   No,  no  !    Don't  dare  refuse  !    It's  your 

turn  !    Up  you  get ! 
Dimba  {rises  in  confusion)  :    I  can  say — Russia  is 

one  thing  and  Greece  is  another.    Now  the  people 


THE  WEDDING  115 

in  Greece  are  one  thing,  and  the  people  in  Russia 
are  another.  And  the  "  karavia  "  which  sail  on 
the  sea  you  call  ships,  and  those  that  go  on  land 
you  call  railways — I  understand  well.  We  are 
Greeks,  you  are  Russians,  and  I  want  nothing — 
I  can  say — Russia  is  one  thing  and  Greece  is 
another.    [Enter  Newnin.) 

Newnin  :  Stop,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  don't  go  on 
eating !  Wait  a  little  !  Madame,  just  half  a 
minute  !  Please  come  here  !  {Takes  Nastasia 
aside,  breathlessly.)  Listen,  the  general's  just 
coming.  At  last  I've  found  one.  I  was  simply 
in  agony.  A  real  general,  in  the  flesh,  old,  eighty, 
perhaps,  or  ninety,  years  old 

Nastasia  :  When  is  he  coming  ? 

Newnin  :  This  very  moment.  You'll  be  grateful 
to  me  all  your  life.  He's  not  a  general,  he's  a 
peach  !  A  marvel !  Not  any  foot  regiment,  not 
infantry  at  all,  but  navy  !  In  rank  he's  a  second- 
grade  captain,  and  with  them,  in  the  navy,  that's 
just  the  same  as  a  field-marshal  or,  in  civil  rank, 
a  privy  councillor.  Absolutely  the  same !  Even 
higher  ! 

Nastasia  :   You're  not  deceiving  me,  Andrew  ? 

Newnin  :  Now,  am  I  a  rascal  ?    Don't  you  worry. 


ii6  THE  WEDDING 

Nastasia  (sighing)  :  I  don't  want  to  waste  money, 
Andrew. 

Newnin  :  Don't  you  worry.  He's  not  a  general, 
he's  a  work  of  art !  (Raises  his  voice.)  And  I 
said  to  him,  "  You've  quite  forgotten  us,  your 
excellency,"  I  said.  "  It's  not  right,  your  ex- 
cellency, to  forget  old  friends  !  Mrs.  Jigalov  is 
very  angry  with  you,"  I  said.  (Goes  to  table  and 
sits  down.)  And  he  said,  "  My  dear  friend,  how 
can  1  go  if  I  am  not  a  friend  of  the  bridegroom's  ?  " 
"  Oh,  that's  being  too  much,  your  excellency,"  I 
said.  "  What  ceremonies  !  The  bridegroom," 
I  said,  "  is  a  most  charming,  open-hearted  man. 
To  be  working  with  an  appraiser  at  the  bank, 
you  don't  think,  your  excellency,  this  is  a  young 
good-for-nothing.  Why,"  I  said,  "  nowadays 
even  noble  ladies  work  at  banks."  He  clapped 
me  on  the  shoulder,  I  smoked  a  Havana  with  him, 
and  now  he's  coming.  Wait  just  a  moment, 
ladies  and  gentlemen,  don't  go  on  eating ! 

Aplombov  :   And  when  is  he  coming  ? 

Newnin  :  This  moment.  When  I  left  him,  he  was 
already  putting  on  his  goloshes.  Wait  just  a 
moment,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  don't  go  on 
eating  ! 


THE  WEDDING  117 

Aplombov  :   We  must  tell  them  to  play  a  march. 

Newnin  (loudly)  :  Hey,  musicians !  A  march ! 
{Band  plays  a  march.) 

Servant  (announcing)  :  Mr.  Revunov-Karayulov  I 
(Jigalov,  Nastasia,  and  Newnin  run  to  meet  him. 
Enter  Revunov-Karayulov .) 

Nastasia  :  Welcome,  welcome,  your  excellency. 
Very  kind 

Revunov-Karayi^lov  :   Extremely  ! 

Jigalov  :  Your  excellency,  we  are  not  eminent, 
not  exalted  people,  but  simple  folk  ;  but  do  not 
think  there  is  any  trickery  on  our  side.  There  is 
always  the  first  place  in  our  house  for  good 
people  ;  we  grudge  them  nothing.    Welcome  ! 

Revunov-Karayi^lov  :   Extremely  pleased  ! 

Newnin  :  Allow  me  to  introduce  the  bridegroom, 
Mr.  Aplombov,  your  excellency,  and  his  newly- 
born — I  mean,  newly-wed — ^wife  !  And  this  is 
Mr.  Yat,  of  the  telegraph.  This  is  Mr.  Dimba,  a 
foreign  gentleman  of  Greek  nationality,  in  the 
confectionery  profession.  And  so  on,  and  so  on — 
the  rest  are  all — rubbish.  Take  a  seat,  your 
excellency. 

Revunov-KarayiJlov  :  Extremely  !  Excuse  me, 
ladies  and  gentlemen,  I  just  want  to  say  two 


ii8  THE  WEDDING 

words  to  Andrew.  {Takes  Newnin  aside.)  I'm  a 
little  confused,  my  friend.  Why  did  you  call  me 
"  your  excellency  "  ?  I'm  not  a  general,  I'm  a 
second-grade  captain,  and  that's  lower  than  a 
colonel. 

Newnin  {shouts  in  his  ear)  :  Oh,  yes,  yes,  I 
know,  but  allow  us  to  call  you  "  your  excel- 
lency "  !  The  family  here,  you  know,  is  patri- 
archal, it  respects  the  aged,  it  loves  respect  for 
rank. 

Revunov-Karayi^lov  :  Well,  if  that's  the  case, 
then  by  all  means  !  {They  go  to  the  table.)  Ex- 
tremely ! 

N ASTASIA  :  Take  a  seat,  your  excellency.  Be  so 
kind !  Take  something  to  eat,  your  excellency. 
Only  excuse  us,  at  home  you  must  be  used  to 
everything  elegant,  but  with  us  it's  all  simple. 

Revunov-KarayiJlov  {hearing  badly)  :  What  ? 
H'm — Oh,  yes.  {Pause.)  Oh,  yes.  In  the  old 
times  people  always  lived  simply  and  were  satis- 
fied. I  am  a  man  with  a  certain  rank  and  yet  I 
live  simply.  To-day  Andrew  came  to  me  and 
invited  me  to  the  wedding.  "  How  can  I  go,"  I 
said,  "  if  I  don't  know  them  ?  It's  not  the  proper 
thing."    But  he  said,  *'  These  are  simple  people. 


THE  WEDDING  119 

patriarchal,  pleased  to  welcome  guests."  "  Well/' 
I  said,  "  by  all  means,  if  that's  the  case  !  Why 
not  ?  Very  glad.  It's  dull  for  me  at  home  alone, 
and  if  my  presence  at  the  wedding  can  cause  any 
pleasure,  so  do  me  the  favour,"  said  I. 

JiGALOV  :  You  really  mean  it,  your  excellency  ? 
I  esteem  you  for  it.  I'm  a  simple  man  myself, 
without  any  trickery,  and  I  esteem  such  people. 
Take  something  to  eat,  your  excellency. 

Aplombov  :  You  have  been  long  retired,  your 
excellency  ? 

Revunov-KarayiJlov  :  Eh  ?  Oh,  yes,  yes,  that's 
so.  True.  Yes.  But  excuse  me,  what's  all  this  ? 
Bitter  herrings  and  bitter  bread  !  One  can't  eat 
anything  ! 

All  :  Bitter  !  Bitter  !  [Aplombov  and  Dashenka 
kiss.) 

Revunov-Karayi5lov  :  Hee,  hee,  hee.  Your 
healths  {Pause.)  Yes !  In  the  old  days  all 
was  simple  and  everyone  was  satisfied.  I  love 
simplicity.  I'm  an  old  man  ;  I  retired  in  '65  ; 
I'm  seventy-two  years  old.  (Sees  Mozgovy.) 
You're  a  sailor,  then  ? 

Mozgovy  :  Yes,  I  am. 

Revunov-Karayi^lov  :  Aha  !    So  !    Yes  !    Service 


120  THE  WEDDING 

at  sea  was  always  hard.  There  are  things  to 
ponder  and  split  your  head  about.  Every  in- 
significant word  has,  so  to  speak,  its  separate 
meaning.  For  instance — ^the  fore-topman  in  the 
shrouds  on  the  top-gallant  lashings  !  What  does 
that  mean  ?  A  sailor  understands  !  Hee,  hee. 
Now  Where's  your  mathematics  ! 

Newnin  :  The  health  of  his  excellency,  Captain 
Revunov-Karayulov  !  (Band  plays  a  flourish. 
"  Hurrahr) 

Yat  :  Your  excellency,  you  were  pleased  just  now 
to  express  yourself  on  the  subject  of  the  hard- 
ness of  naval  service.  But  tell  me  if  the  tele- 
graph's any  easier  ?  Nowadays,  your  excellency, 
no  one  can  enter  the  telegraph  service  unless  he 
can  read  and  write  French  and  German.  But  the 
hardest  thing  we  have  to  do  is  the  transmission 
of  telegrams.  Terribly  hard.  Please  listen  a 
moment.  {Raps  with  a  fork  on  the  table,  imitating 
a  telegraphic  apparatus.) 

Revunov-Karay^lov  :    What's  that  ? 

Yat  :  That's  for  :  I  esteem  you,  your  excellency, 
for  your  virtues.  You  think  it's  easy  ?  And 
again.    (Raps.) 

Revunov-Karayulov  :  Louder.    I  can't  hear  you. 


THE  WEDDING  121 

Yat  :  And  that's  for  :  Madame,  how  happy  I' am 
to  clasp  you  in  my  embraces  ! 

Revunov-Karayijlov  :  What  lady  ?  Yes.  (To 
Mozgovy.)  And  then,  suppose  it's  blowing  half 
a  gale  and  you've  got — you've  got  to  hoist  the 
foretop  halliards  and  the  tops'l  gallants.  You 
must  give  the  order  :  "  Mount  the  rigging  to  the 
foretop  halliards  and  the  tops'l  gallants,"  and  at 
the  same  time  as  they  loose  the  sails  on  the  stays, 
below  they  are  standing  to  the  main  lashings  and 
the  tops'l  gallant  halliards 

Master  of  Ceremonies  (rising)  :  Dear  ladies  and 
gentle 

REVUNOV-KARAYdLOV  (breaking  in)  :  Yes  !  A  few 
other  commands  ?  Yes  !  To  furl  the  foretop 
halliards  and  the  tops'l  gallants  !  Good  ?  Now 
what  does  that  mean,  what's  the  meaning  of  it  ? 
It's  very  simple.  To  furl,  you  know,  the  foretop 
halliards  and  the  tops'l  gallants  and  hoist  the 
mains'l — all  at  once  !  They  must  level  the  fore- 
topmains  and  the  tops'l  gallant  halliards  on  the 
hoist ;  at  the  same  time,  there's  the  necessity  of 
strengthening  the  braces  of  all  the  sails  ;  and 
when  the  stays  are  taut  and  the  braces  raised 
all   round,   then   the  foretop  halliards  and  the 


122  THE  WEDDING 

tops'l  gallants,  settling  conformably  with  the 
direction  of  the  wind 

Newnin  :  Your  excellency,  the  host  begs  you  to 
speak  of  something  else.  The  guests  don't  under- 
stand all  this,  and  it's  dull. 

Revunov-Karay^lov  :  What  ?  Who's  dull  ?  (To 
Mozgovy.)  Young  man,  suppose  the  vessel  is 
lying  by  the  wind,  on  the  starboard  course,  under 
full  stretch  of  canvas,  and  you  have  to  bring  her 
over  before  the  wind  ?  What  orders  must  you 
give  ?  Why,  this  :  Whistle  all  hands  on  deck 
for  a  tack  across  before  the  wind.    Hee,  hee  ! 

Newnin  :  Yes,  yes  !    Take  something  to  eat. 

Revunov-Karayi^lov  :  Just  as  they  all  come 
running  out,  at  once  you  give  the  command  : 
"  Stand  to  stations  for  a  tack  across  before  the 
wind  !  "  Ah  !  That's  life  !  You  give  the  order 
and  watch  how  the  sailors,  like  lightning,  run  to 
their  places  and  adjust  the  lashings  and  the 
halliards.  You  finish  by  shouting  out,  "  Bravo, 
my  fine  fellows."    {Shouts  and  chokes.) 

Master  of  Ceremonies  {hastens  to  take  advantage 
of  the  probable  pause)  :  On  this  day,  to-day,  so  to 
speak,  on  which  we  are  collected  together  here  to 
do  honour  to  our  beloved 


THE  WEDDING  123 

Revunov-Karayi^lov  (breaking  in)  :  Yes  !  Yes  ! 
And  all  this  has  to  be  remembered.  For  instance, 
halliard-royals,  tops'l  gallants 

Master  of  Ceremonies  (offended)  :  What's  he  in- 
terrupting for  ?    We  can't  say  a  single  word. 

N ASTASIA  :  We  ignorant  people,  your  excellency,  do 
not  understand  anything  of  this.  But  tell  us 
instead  something  to  please 

Revunov  -  Karayi^lov  (misunderstanding)  :  I've 
just  eaten  some,  thank  you.  You  said  ''  cheese," 
did  you  not  ?  Thank  you.  Yes  !  I  was  recalling 
old  times.  But  certainly  it's  fine,  young  man. 
*'  If  you  sail  on  the  sea,  you'll  know  no  care." 
(With  a  trembling  voice.)  You  recollect  the 
delight  of  tacking  in  a  gale  ?  What  seaman  does 
not  light  up  at  the  recollection  of  this  manoeuvre  ? 
The  very  moment  the  command  resounds,  "  Pipe 
all  hands  aloft,"  an  electric  spark  seems  to  fly 
over  everybody.  From  the  commander  to  the 
lowest  sailor — all  tremble  with  excitement 

Zmewkin  :  O,  how  dull !  How  dull !  (General 
murmur.) 

Revunov-Karay^lov  (misunderstanding)  :  Thank 
you,  I  have  had  some.  (With  rapture.)  Everyone 
gets  ready  and  turns  his  eyes  on  the  first  officer. 


124  THE  WEDDING 

"  Stand  to  the  gallants  and  starboard  tops'l 
braces,  and  the  port  main  braces,  and  port 
counter-braces,'*  orders  the  first  officer.  All  is 
accomplished  in  a  moment  ;  halliard  royals  and 
topsl  lashings  heaved.  All  right  on  board ! 
(Stands  up.)  Off  flies  the  vessel  in  the  wind  and 
at  last  the  sails  begin  to  get  wet.  The  first 
officer  cries,  "  The  braces,  don't  dawdle  at  the 
braces,"  and  fixes  his  eyes  on  the  maintop,  and 
when  at  last  the  tops'l  gets  wet,  at  that  moment 
the  vessel  begins  to  tack,  and  you  hear  the  loud 
command,  "  Loose  the  maintop  halliards,  let  go 
the  braces,"  then  everything  flies  off  with  a  crack 
— like  the  Tower  of  Babel — and  all  is  accom- 
plished without  a  fault.    You've  tacked  ! 

Nastasia  (bursting  out)  :  But,  General,  you're 
being  unpleasant !  You  ought  to  know  better, 
at  your  age  !    You're  unpleasant ! 

Revunov-KarayxJlov  :  Pheasant  ?  No,  I  haven't 
had  any.    Thank  you. 

Nastasia  (loudly)  :  I  said,  you're  being  unpleasant  ! 
You  ought  to  know  better,  at  your  age,  General. 

Newnin  (agitated)  :  Now,  come — there,  there. 
Really 

Revunov-KarayiJlov  :  For  the  first  thing,  I'm  not 


THE  WEDDING  125 

a  general,  but  a  second-grade  captain,  which 
corresponds  on  the  list  to  a  lieutenant-colonel 

Nastasia  :  Then,  if  you're  not  a  general,  why  did 
you  take  the  money  ?  And  we  didn't  pay  you 
money  for  you  to  be  unpleasant. 

Revunov-KarayiJlov  (perplexed)  :    What  money  ? 

Nastasia  :  You  know  what  money  !  You  received 
through  Mr.  Newnin  twen — —  [To  Newnin.) 
But  it's  your  fault,  Andrew.  I  didn't  ask  you 
to  hire  such  a  man. 

Newnin  :  Now,  there — let  it  be  !  Is  it  worth 
while  ? 

Revunov-Karayi^lov  :  Hired — paid — ^what's  this  ? 

Aplombov  :  But  excuse  me.  You  received  the 
twenty-five  roubles  from  Mr.  Newnin  ? 

Revunov-KarayiJlov  :  What  twenty-five  roubles  ? 
[Ponders.)  Ah  !  I  see  !  Now  I  understand  every- 
thing.   How  disgusting  !    How  disgusting  ! 

Aplombov  :   Then  you  did  receive  the  money  ? 

Revunov-Karayi^lov  :  I  received  no  money  at 
all !  Off  with  you  !  [Leaves  the  table.)  How  dis- 
gusting !  How  low !  To  affront  an  old  man,  a 
sailor,  an  officer  of  merit !  If  this  were  decent 
society,  I'd  challenge  you  to  a  duel,  but  now  what 
can    I    do  ?      [Muddled.)      Where's    the    door  ? 


126  THE  WEDDING 

Which  is  the  way  out  ?    Waiter !    Show  me  out  1 
Waiter  !    How  low  !    How  disgusting  !    (Exit,) 

Nastasia  :  Andrew,  where  are  those  twenty-five 
roubles  ? 

Newnin  :  Come,  is  it  worth  while  to  speak  of  such 
trifles  ?  Everybody  else  is  gay,  but  you,  Heaven 
knows  why — (Shouts.)  To  the  health  of  the  young 
people  !  Musicians,  play  a  march  !  Musicians  ! 
(Band  begins  to  play  a  march.)  To  the  health  of 
the  young  people  ! 

Zmewkin  :  I  feel  stifled  !  Give  me  atmosphere  ! 
Beside  you  I  feel  stifled  ! 

Yat  (in  an  ecstasy)  :  Wonderful  woman  !  Wonder- 
ful woman  !    (The  noise  gets  louder.) 

Master  of  Ceremonies  (stands  and  shouts)  :  Dear 
ladies  and  gentlemen  !     On  this  day,  to-day,  so 

to  speak 

(Curtain) 


THE   JUBILEE 
By   ANTON    CH^HOV 


CHARACTERS 

Shipuchin  Tatiana 

HiRiN  Mrs.  Merchutkin 

Managers 


THE   JUBILEE 

{Scene  :  The  managing  director's  study  at  a  hank, 
furnished  with  affected  sumptuousness .  Velvet- 
covered  furniture,  flowers,  statues,  rugs,  telephone. 
Midday.    Hirin,  the  bookkeeper,  is  alone.) 

HiRiN  [shouts  at  the  door)  :  Go  to  the  chemist's  and 
get  three  ha'penny  worth  of  nerve  tonic,  and 
tell  them  to  bring  some  fresh  water  to  the  direc- 
tor's study.  I've  got  to  tell  you  a  hundred  times  ! 
{Goes  to  table.)  I'm  tired  out.  I've  been  writing 
for  four  days  without  closing  my  eyes  ;  from 
morning  to  evening  I'm  writing  here,  and  from 
evening  to  morning,  at  home.  {Coughs.)  My 
whole  body's  inflamed.  Shivering,  fever,  cough- 
ing ;  I've  got  rheumatism  in  my  legs,  things  keep 
coming  in  front  of  my  eyes.  {Sits  down.)  Our  old 
joker,  this  brute,  this  managing  director,  is  going 
to  read  the  report  to-day  at  the  general  meeting  : 
*'  Our  bank  at  the  present  moment  and  in  time  to 

K  129 


130  THE  JUBILEE 


come  " — you'd  think  he  was  Gambetta.  [Writes.) 
Two,  one,  one,  six,  nought,  seven,  add  six,  nought, 
one,  six — He  wants  to  throw  dust  in  their  eyes  ; 
so  I've  got  to  sit  here  and  work  for  him  like  a 
nigger.  He  just  puts  the  poetry  into  the  report  ; 
but  I  must  tap  away  on  the  counting  machine 
all  day  long,  hell  take  him.  [Taps  the  machine.) 
I  can't  stand  it.  [Writes.)  One  to  carry,  three, 
seven,  two,  one,  nought.  He  promised  to  pay 
me  for  my  trouble.  If  everything  goes  off  well 
to-day  and  he  takes  in  the  public,  he's  promised 
me  a  gold  pendant  and  three  hundred  roubles. 
We'll  see.  {Writes.)  Well,  and  if  all  my  trouble 
goes  for  nothing,  well,  my  friend,  I'm  sorry — 
I'm  a  passionate  man  !    Yes,  my  friend,  in  a  fit 

'  of  temper  I  can  even  commit  a  crime.  Yes  ! 
[Off,  noise  and  applause.  Shipuchin*s  voice, 
"  Thank  you !  Thank  you  !  I  am  moved !  " 
Enter  Shipuchin,  middle-aged,  in  a  frock-coat  and 
white  tie,  with  a  monocle.  He  carries  an  albuin 
which  has  just  been  presented  to  him.  All  the  while 
he  is  on  the  stage,  employees  bring  him  papers  to 
sign.) 

Shipuchin  [standing  at  the  door)  :  This  gift  of  yours, 
dear  colleagues,  I  shall  preserve  to  my  death,  as  a 


THE  JUBILEE  131 

remembrance  of  the  happiest  days  of  my  life  ! 
Yes,  my  dear,  dear  sirs  !  Once  again  I  thank  you. 
[Throws  them  a  kiss,  and  goes  up  to  Hirin.)  My 
dear  fellow,  my  esteemed  Hirin  ! 

Hirin  (rising)  :  I  have  the  honour  to  congratulate 
you,  Mr.  Shipuchin,  on  your  fifteenth  year  at  the 
head  of  the  bank  and  I  hope  that 

Shipuchin  (squeezing  his  hand)  :  Thank  you,  my 
dear  fellow.  Thank  you  !  This  notable  day, 
this  jubilee — Very,  very  glad  !  Thank  you  for 
your  services,  for  everything  ;  for  everything  I 
thank  you.  If,  while  I  have  had  the  honour  to 
be  managing  director  of  this  bank,  if  anything 
useful  has  been  done,  then  I  am  indebted  for  it 
before  all  else  to  my  colleagues.  (Sighs.)  Yes, 
my  dear  fellow,  fifteen  years  !  Fifteen  years,  or 
I'm  not  Shipuchin  !  (Briskly.)  Well,  what  about 
my  report  ?    Is  it  coming  along  ? 

Hirin  :   Yes.    There  are  about  five  pages  left. 

Shipuchin  :  Excellent.  That  means,  it  will  be 
ready  at  three  ? 

Hirin  :  If  nobody  disturbs  me,  it'll  be  finished. 
There's  just  rubbish  left. 

Shipuchin  :  Magnificent.  Magnificent,  or  I'm  not 
Shipuchin  !    The  general  meeting  will  be  at  four. 


132  THE  JUBILEE 

Please,  dear  old  chap  ;  give  me  the  first  half, 
and  I'll  study  it.  Give  it  me  quick.  [Takes  the 
report.)  I  base  gigantic  hopes  on  this  report.  It's 
my  ''profession  de  foi/*  or,  to  put  it  better,  my 
firework — my  firework,  or  I'm  not  Shipuchin  ! 
[Sits  down  and  reads  the  report  to  himself.)  But 
I'm  devilish  tired.  Last  night  I  had  an  attack 
of  gout,  all  the  morning  I've  been  busy  with  little 
affairs  and  running  about,  then  these  commo- 
tions and  ovations  and  agitations — I'm  tired. 

HiRiN  :  Two,  nought,  nought,  three,  nine,  two, 
nought — It's  all  green  before  my  eyes  with  figures. 
Three,  one,  six,  four,  one,  five.    [Taps  the  machine.) 

Shipuchin  :  And  another  bother — ^This  morning 
your  wife  called  on  me  and  complained  about  you 
again.  She  said,  last  night  you  ran  after  her  and 
your  sister-in-law  with  a  knife.  What  does  that 
look  like,  Hirin  ?    Come,  come  ! 

HiRiN  [roughly)  :  I  take  the  liberty,  Mr.  Shipuchin, 
on  the  occasion  of  the  jubilee,  to  make  a  request 
to  you.  I  beg  you,  if  only  out  of  consideration 
for  my  working  like  a  nigger,  not  to  interfere  with 
my  family  life.    Please  don't ! 

Shipuchin  [sighs)  :  You've  got  an  impossible 
character,  Hirin.    You're  an  excellent  fellow  and 


THE  JUBILEE  133 

respectable,  but  when  it  comes  to  women  you 
behave  like  Jack  the  Ripper.  Really,  I  can't 
understand  why  you  dislike  them  so  ! 

HiRiN  :  And  I  can't  understand  why  you  like  them 
so.    {Pause.) 

Shipuchin  :  The  employees  have  just  presented  me 
with  an  album  and  the  managers,  so  I  hear,  want 
to  present  me  with  an  address  and  a  silver  bowl. 
{Plays  with  his  monocle.)  Good,  or  I'm  not 
Shipuchin !  That's  not  without  its  use.  For  the 
reputation  of  the  bank,  some  pomp  is  necessary, 
damn  it  all.  You're  a  good  fellow ;  after  all,  you 
know  all  about  it.  I  wrote  the  address  myself  and 
bought  the  silver  bowl  as  well.  The  binding  for 
the  address  cost  a  lot,  but  it  wouldn't  do  without 
it.  By  themselves  they  wouldn't  have  been  good 
for  anything.  {Looks  round.)  What  an  establish- 
ment !  What  an  establishment !  They  may  say 
I  am  trivial,  because  I  want  the  brass  on  the 
doors  polished  and  the  people  on  my  staff  to 
wear  fashionable  ties  and  a  fat  porter  to  stand  at 
the  door.  Not  at  all,  gentlemen.  The  brass  on 
the  doors  and  the  fat  porter  are  not  trifles.  At 
my  own  home  I  can  be  an  ordinary  person,  eat 
and  sleep  like  a  pig,  and  drink  and  drink 


134  THE  JUBILEE 

HiRiN  :  No  allusions,  if  you  please  ! 

Shipuchin  :  Oh,  nobody's  making  allusions.  What 
an  impossible  character  you've  got !  This  is  what 
I'm  saying — at  home  I  can  be  an  ordinary  person, 
a  parvenu,  a  slave  to  habits,  but  here  everything 
must  be  "en  grand  !  "  This  is  the  bank  !  Here 
every  detail  must,  so  to  speak,  be  imposing  and 
have  a  dignified  appearance.  (Picks  up  a  piece  of 
paper  and  throws  it  in  the.  grate.)  It  is  my  par- 
ticular pride  that  I  have  raised  high  the  reputa- 
tion of  the  bank.  It's  a  big  thing,  tone,  a  big 
thing,  or  I'm  not  Shipuchin  !  [Looks  at  Hirin.) 
My  dear  fellow,  at  any  moment  the  deputation  of 
the  managers  may  arrive,  and  you're  in  felt 
slippers,  in  that  scarf,  in  that  wild-coloured 
jacket  ;  you  might  have  put  on  a  frock-coat,  w^ell, 
anyhow,  a  black  coat 

Hirin  :  My  health  is  more  to  me  than  your  bank- 
managers.    My  whole  body's  inflamed. 

Shipuchin  (disturbed)  :  But  agree  with  me  that  it's 
untidy  !    You  spoil  the  ensemble. 

Hirin  :  When  the  deputation  comes,  I  can  hide — 
that's  not  a  great  misfortune.  (Writes.)  Seven, 
one,  seven,  two,  one,  five,  nought.  I  too  don't 
like  untidiness.     Seven,   two,  nine.     (Taps  the 


THE  JUBILEE  135 


machine.)  I  can't  bear  untidiness  !  You'd  have 
done  well  to-day  not  to  invite  ladies  to  the  jubilee 
dinner. 

Shipuchin  :   What  nonsense  ! 

HiRiN  :  I  know  you  are  letting  them  in  to-day  so 
as  to  be  elegant.  But,  you  see,  they'll  spoil 
everything  for  you.  From  them  comes  all  un- 
tidiness. 

Shipuchin  :  On  the  contrary,  women's  society  ele- 
vates. 

HiRiN  :  Yes !  Now,  you'd  call  your  wife  an  educated 
woman  ;  and  last  Monday  she  said  a  thing  that 
made  me  gasp  for  a  couple  of  days.  Suddenly 
she  asked  me  before  strangers,  *'  Is  it  true  that  at 
our  bank  my  husband  bought  those  shares  in  the 
Drage-Prage  bank  which  dropped  on  the  Ex- 
change ?  Oh,  my  husband  is  so  uneasy  !  "  And 
that  before  strangers  !  And  why  you're  so  open 
with  them,  I  can't  understand.  Do  you  want 
them  to  lead  you  into  the  courts  ? 

Shipuchin  :  All  right,  enough,  enough.  This  is  all 
too  gloomy  for  a  jubilee.  But  you  do  well  to 
remind  me.  {Looks  at  his  watch.)  My  wife  should 
be  here  immediately.  In  the  ordinary  way  I 
should  have  driven  to  the  station  to  meet  the  poor 


136  THE  JUBILEE 

girl,  but  there's  not  time  and — and  I'm  tired.  To 
tell  the  truth,  I'm  not  glad  she's  coming.  I'm 
glad,  but  it  would  have  been  better  for  me  if 
she  had  stayed  just  another  two  days  with  her 
mother.  She  wants  me  to  spend  the  whole 
evening  with  her  to-day,  and  all  the  time  there's 
a  little  excursion  arranged  for  after  dinner. 
(Shudders.)  That  nervous  shivering's  starting 
already.  My  nerves  are  so  strained  that  I  think 
the  slightest  little  thing  would  start  me  crying. 
No,  I  must  be  strong  ;  or  I'm  not  Shipuchin  ! 
{Enter  Tatiana  Shipuchin,  twenty-five  years  old,  in 
a  waterproof,  carrying  an  expensive  hag) 

Shipuchin  :   Bah  !    Talk  of  the  devil ! 

Tatiana  :  Darling  !  {Runs  to  her  husband.  A  long 
kiss.) 

Shipuchin  :  Why,  we  were  just  talking  about  you. 
{Looks  at  his  watch.) 

Tatiana  {breathlessly)  :  Lonely  ?  Quite  well  ?  I 
haven't  been  home  yet — came  straight  here  from 
the  station.  I  must  tell  you,  lots  and  lots — I 
can't  keep  it — I  won't  take  off  my  waterproof — 
I  shall  only  be  a  minute.  {To  Hirin.)  Good 
morning,  Mr.  Hirin.  {To  Shipuchin.)  Every- 
thing all  right  at  home  ? 


THE  JUBILEE  137 

Shipuchin  :  Everything.  Why,  you've  grown 
stouter  in  the  last  week  and  prettier.  Well,  how 
did  it  go  off  ? 

Tatiana  :  Excellently.  Mama  and  Kate  send  you 
their  love.  Basil  sends  you  a  kiss.  (Kisses  him.) 
Aunt  sends  you  a  pot  of  jam,  and  they're  all 
angry  that  you  don't  write.  Zena  sends  you  a 
kiss.  (Kisses  him.)  Oh,  if  you  only  knew  what 
happened  !  What  do  you  think  ?  It's  all  strange 
to  me,  even  to  tell  it.  What  do  you  think  hap- 
pened ? — But  I  can  see  from  your  eyes  that 
you're  not  glad  to  see  me. 

Shipuchin  :  Just  the  contrary,  darling !  (Kisses 
her.    Hirin  coughs  angrily.) 

Tatiana  (sighs)  :  Oh,  poor  Kate,  poor  Kate !  I'm 
so  sorry,  so  sorry  for  her  ! 

Shipuchin  :  Darling,  we  have  a  jubilee  to-day,  and 
at  any  moment  a  deputation  may  come  from  the 
managers,  and  you're  not  dressed. 

Tatiana  :  Really,  a  jubilee  !  I  congratulate  you, 
gentlemen,  I  wish  you — then  there'll  be  a  meeting 
to-day  and  a  dinner.  I  love  that !  Do  you  re- 
member that  fine  address  you  wrote  so  long  ago 
for  the  managers  ?  Will  they  read  it  to  you 
to-day  ?     (Hirin  coughs  angrily.)        > . 


13^  THE  JUBILEE 


Shipuchin  {confused)  :  Darling,  one  doesn't  speak 
of  that — Really,  you're  going  home,  eh  ? 

Tatiana  :  Immediately,  immediately.  I  can  tell  you 
in  an  instant,  and  then  go.  I'll  tell  you  all  about 
it,  right  from  the  beginning.  Well,  when  you  saw 
me  off,  I  was  sitting,  you  remember,  side  by  side 
with  that  big  woman.  I  began  to  read  ;  I  don't 
like*  conversations  in  a  railway-carriage.  For 
three  stations  I  read  and  didn't  speak  to  her  or 
anybody.  Well,  evening  came  on  and  you  know 
gloomy  thoughts  like  that  always  disappear. 
Opposite  me  sat  a  young  man,  nothing  particular 
to  look  at,  not  ugly,  dark — Well,  we  commenced 
to  talk.  Then  a  sailor  arrived  and  some  student 
or  other.  [Smiles,]  I  told  them  I  wasn't  married. 
How  they  looked  after  me  !  We  chatted  right  up 
to  midnight,  the  dark  young  man  told  awfully 
funny  stories  and  the  sailor  sang  all  the  time.  My 
sides  ached  with  laughing.  And  when  the  sailor 
— oh  !  those  sailors  ! — ^when  the  sailor  found  out 
by  accident  that  my  name  was  Tatiana,  what  do 
you  think  he  sang  ?  {Sings  bass.)  "  Onegin, 
conceal  it  I  cannot,  how  madly  I  love  fair 
Tatiana  !  "     (Giggles.    Hirin  coughs  angrily.) 

Shipuchin  :  But,  Tanyusha,  we're  disturbing  Mr. 
Hirin.    Go  home,  darling,  and  afterwards 


THE  JUBILEE  139 

Tatiana  :  Never  mind,  never  mind,  let  him  listen 
too.  It's  very  interesting  ;  I'm  just  finishing. 
At  the  station.  Sere j a  came  to  meet  me.  She  had 
brought  some  young  man,  an  inspector  of  taxes, 
I  think,  nothing  particular  to  look  at,  very  nice, 
especially  the  eyes — Sere  j  a  introduced  him  and 
we   aU   three  went  off  together.     The   weather 

was  wonderful (Voices  off :    "  You  mustn't ! 

You  mustn't !  What  do  you  want  ?  "  Enter  Mrs. 
Merchutkin,  old,  in  a  cloak.) 

Merchutkin  [at  the  door,  fanning  herself)  :  What 
are  you  stopping  me  for  ?  I  must  go  myself ! 
(Enters;  to  Shipuchin.)  Allow  me  to  introduce 
myself,  your  excellency,  I  am  the  wife  of  Mr. 
Merchutkin. 

Shipuchin  :  What  can  I  do  for  you  ? 

Merchutkin  :  Please  listen,  your  excellency ;  my 
husband  was  ill  for  five  months  and  while  he  was 
lying  at  home  getting  better,  they  dismissed  him 
without  any  reason,  your  excellency,  and  when 
I  went  for  his  salary,  please  listen,  they  had  taken 
a  quarter  off  his  salary.  "  Why  ?  "  I  asked  them. 
"He's  been  borrowing  from  the  fund,"  they  told 
me,  "  and  other  people  guaranteed  him."  How 
can  that  be  ?     He  can't  take  anything  without 


14<^  THE  JUBILEE 


my  consent  !  They  mustn't  do  it,  your  excel- 
lency !  I'm  a  poor  woman,  and  live  by  lodgers. 
I'm  a  weak,  defenceless  woman — everybody  in- 
sults me,  and  I  never  hear  a  kind  word  from 
anybody. 

Shipuchin  :  Permit  me.  {Takes  her  application  and 
reads  it,  standing.) 

Tatiana  {to  Hirin)  :  But  I  must  begin  at  the  be- 
ginning. Suddenly  last  week  I  got  a  letter  from 
Mama.  She  wrote  that  a  certain  Grendelevski 
had  proposed  to  my  sister  Kate.  An  excellent, 
modest  young  man,  but  without  any  means  and 
with  no  particular  position.  And  apparently, 
just  imagine,  Kate  was  attracted  by  him. 
What  was  to  be  done  ?  Mama  wrote  to  me 
to  come  at  once  and  use  my  influence  over  my 
sister. 

Hirin  {roughly)  :  Excuse  me,  you're  disturbing  me  ! 
You  and  Mama  and  Kate — here  am  I  disturbed 
and  I  don't  imderstand  anything. 

Tatiana  :  There's  seriousness  !  Why  are  you  so 
bad-tempered  to-day  ?    You're  in  love  ?   {Smiles.) 

Shipuchin  {to  Merchutkin)  :  Excuse  me,  what  is  all 
this  about  ?    I  don't  imderstand. 

Tatiana  :   In  love  ?    Aha  !    He  blushed  ! 


THE  JUBILEE  141 

Shipuchin  {to  his  wife)  :  Tanyusha  darling,  just  go 
into  the  office  for  half  a  minute.  I'll  come  im- 
mediately. 

Tatiana  :   Very  well,  dear.     (Exit.) 

Shipuchin  :  I  don't  understand.  You've  evidently 
made  a  mistake,  Madame.  Your  application  does 
not  concern  us  at  all.  Just  give  yourself  the 
trouble  to  apply  to  the  government  department 
in  which  your  husband  worked. 

Merchutkin  :  Kind  sir,  I  have  been  there  already 
five  months,  and  they  won't  take  in  the  appli- 
cation. I  nearly  went  out  of  my  head,  but 
luckily  my  son-in-law  Boris  advised  me  to  come 
to  you.  "  Mama,"  he  said,  "  apply  to  Mr.  Shipu- 
chin ;  he's  an  influential  man  and  can  do  any_ 
thing."    Help  me,  your  excellency  ! 

Shipuchin  :  We  can't  do  anything  for  you,  Mrs. 
Merchutkin.  Do  you  understand — your  husband, 
as  far  as  I  can  judge,  served  in  the  Army  Medical 
Department,  but  this  is  a  perfectly  private  com- 
mercial establishment  ;  this  is  a  bank.  Surely 
you  understand  ? 

Merchutkin  :  Your  excellency,  I  have  a  doctor's 
certificate  about  my  husband's  illness.  Here  it  is, 
please  look  at  it 


142  THE  JUBILEE 


Shipuchin  {irritably)  :  Certainly  ;  I  believe  you  ; 
but,  once  again,  this  does  not  concern  us.  (Off, 
Tatiana's  laugh,  followed  by  male  laughter.) 

Shipuchin  (looking  through  the  door)  :  She's  dis- 
turbing the  clerks  out  there.  (To  Merchutkin.) 
It's  curious  ;  it's  quite  ridiculous.  Does  your 
husband  really  not  know  where  you  should 
apply  ? 

Merchutkin  :  Your  excellency,  I  must  tell  you,  he 
knows  nothing  !  He  keeps  on  saying,  "  It's  not 
your  business  ;  go  away  !  "    That's  all ! 

Shipuchin  :  Once  again,  Madame — Your  husband 
served  in  the  Army  Medical  Department,  and  this 
is  a  bank,  a  private  commercial  establishment. 

Merchutkin  :  Oh,  yes,  yes,  yes,  I  understand,  kind 
sir.  In  that  case,  your  excellency,  tell  them  to 
give  me  just  a  little.  I'm  quite  willing  not  to 
take  it  all  at  once. 

Shipuchin  (sighs)  :  Ugh  ! 

HiRiN  :  Mr.  Shipuchin,  I  shall  never  finish  the 
report  like  this. 

Shipuchin  :  One  moment !  (To  Merchutkin.)  I 
can't  explain  it  to  you,  you  see.  Now  please 
understand  that  to  come  to  us  with  an  applica- 
tion like  this  is  as  strange  as  to  apply  for  a  divorce. 


THE  JUBILEE  143 


say,  at  a  chemist's  or  an  assay-office.  {A  knock  at 
the  door,  and  Tatiana's  voice  :  "Andrew,  may  I 
come  in  ?  ") 

Shipuchin  (calls  out)  :  Wait  a  second,  darling ; 
one  second !  (To  Merchutkin.)  They  didn't 
pay  you,  but  what  have  we  got  to  do  with  it  ? 
Besides,  Madame,  we  have  a  jubilee  to-day  and 
we're  busy — and  at  any  moment  someone  might 
come — Excuse  me. 

Merchutkin  :  Your  excellency,  take  pity  on  me, 
an  orphan.  I  am  a  weak,  defenceless  woman. 
I'm  worried  to  death.  What  with  law-cases  with 
the  lodgers  and  trouble  on  account  of  my  husband 
and  running  about  with  the  housework,  and  then 
my  son-in-law  still  without  a  position 

Shipuchin  :  Mrs.  Merchutkin,  I — ^no,  excuse  me, 
I  can't  talk  to  you  !  My  head's  quite  dizzy. 
You're  disturbing  us,  and  wasting  our  time  for 
nothing.  (Sighs  ;  aside.)  I  know  what'U  stop 
her,  or  I'm  not  Shipuchin  !  (To  Hirin.)  Mr. 
Hirin  !  Please  explain  to  Mrs.  Merchutkin. 
(Waves  his  hand,  and  goes  out.) 

Hirin  (approaches  her  roughly)  :  What  can  I  do  for 
you  ? 

Merchutkin  :    I  am  a  weak,  defenceless  woman. 


144  THE  JUBILEE 


Perhaps  I  look  strong,  but  if  you  come  to  examine 
me  I've  not  got  a  single  healthy  vein  in  me  !  I 
can  hardly  stand  on  my  legs,  and  my  appetite's 

.  quite  gone.  This  morning  I  drank  my  coffee 
without  any  pleasure. 

HiRiN  :  I  ask  you,  what  can  I  do  for  you  ? 

Merchutkin  :  Kind  sir,  tell  them  to  give  me  just 
a  little,  and  let  the  rest  wait  a  few  months. 

HiRiN  :  It  seems  to  me,  you  were  told  in  plain 
language — this  is  a  bank  ! 

Merchutkin  :  Yes,  yes  ;  and  if  it's  needed  I  can 
produce  a  medical  certificate. 

HiRiN  :  What  have  you  got  on  your  shoulders,  a 
head,  or  what  ? 

Merchutkin  :  Dear  gentleman,  I'm  only  asking  for 
my  legal  rights.  I  don't  want  anything  of  any- 
body else's. 

HiRiN  :  I  ask  you,  Madame,  what  have  you  got  on 
your  shoulders,  a  head,  or  what  ?  Oh,  Lord  ! 
I've  no  time  to  talk  to  you.  I'm  busy.  (Points 
to  the  door.)    Please  ! 

Merchutkin  (surprised)  :  And  the  money  ? 

HiRiN  :   What  it  comes  to  is  this — you  haven't  got 

a   head  on   your  shoulders,  but (Raps  his 

finger  on  the  table,  and  then  on  his  forehead.) 


THE  JUBILEE  145 

Merchutkin  {watching  him)  :  What !  Oh,  that 
won't  do  !  That  won't  do  !  Do  that  to  your  own 
wife  !    You  don't  do  that  to  me  ! 

HiRiN  {angrily  ;  shouting)  :  Get  out  of  it ! 

Merchutkin  :  That  won't  do  !  That  won't  do  ! 
I'm  not  afraid  of  you !  We've  seen  your  sort 
before  !    Creature  ! 

HiRiN  {shouting)  :  I  don't  think  in  all  my  life  I  ever 
saw  anything  so  repugnant.  Ugh!  It's  going 
to  my  head  !  {Breathes  with  difficulty.)  I'll  tell 
you  again  !  Are  you  listening  ?  If  you  don't  go 
away  from  here,  you  old  witch,  I'll  grind  you  to 
powder  !  I've  got  such  a  character,  that  I  could 
make  a  cripple  of  you  for  life  !  I  can  commit  a 
crime  ! 

Merchutkin  :  "  The  dog  barks,  the  wind  blows  it 
away."  I'm  not  frightened.  We've  seen  your 
sort  before. 

HiRiN  {in  despair)  :  I  can't  look  at  her  I  I  feel  ill ! 
I  can't !  {Goes  to  table  and  sits  down.)  They  fill 
the  bank  with  women — I  can't  write  the  report. 
I  can't ! 

Merchutkin  :  I  don't  want  anything  of  anybody 
else's,  I  only  want  my  legal  rights.  Oh,  you 
shameless  man  !  To  sit  here  in  slippers  !  You 
yokel !    {Enter  Shipuchin,  followed  by  Tatiana.) 


146  THE  JUBILEE 


Tatiana  :  In  the  evening  we  went  to  Berejnitski's. 
Kate  was  wearing  a  blue  foulard  frock,  a  little 
decollete,  and  she  had  her  hair  done  very  high. 
I  combed  her  myself.  And  the  way  she  was 
dressed  and  had  her  hair  done,  well,  it  was  simply 
enchanting 

Shipuchin  {with  a  headache)  :  Yes,  yes,  enchanting 
— ^They  might  be  here  at  any  moment. 

Merchutkin  :   Your  excellency  ! 

Shipuchin  [dejected)  :  What  is  it  ?  What  do  you 
want  ? 

Merchutkin  (pointing  to  Hirin)  :  Your  excellency, 
that  man,  that  man  there,  he  tapped  his  finger 
on  his  forehead  and  then  on  the  table  !  You  told 
him  to  look  after  my  business,  and  he  makes 
fun  of  every  word.  I'm  a  weak,  defenceless 
woman 

Shipuchin  :  Very  well,  Madame,  I'm  considering 
it.  I  will  take  measures.  Go  away  now.  After- 
wards      (Aside.)     My  gout's  beginning. 

Hirin  (quietly  to  Shipuchin)  :  Mr.  Shipuchin,  tell 
them  to  send  for  the  porter,  and  let  her  be  thrown 
out  by  the  scruff  of  the  neck. 

Shipuchin  (frightened)  :  No,  no !  She'd  start  to 
scream,  and  there  are  a  lot  of  people  in  the  house. 


THE  JUBILEE  147 


Merchutkin  :    Your  excellency  ! 

HiRiN  {in  a  mournful  voice)  :  And  I've  got  to  write 
the  report !  I  haven't  time  !  {Returns  to  the 
table.)    I  can't ! 

Merchutkin  :  Your  excellency,  when  can  I  have 
it  ?    I  need  the  money  to-day. 

Shipuchin  {aside,  angrily)  :  Re — mark — ab — ^ly 
horrible  woman  !  {Softly,  to  her.)  Madame,  I've 
told  you  already.  This  is  a  bank,  a  private, 
commercial  establishment. 

Merchutkin  :  Be  kind  to  me,  your  excellency  ; 
be  a  father  to  me  1  If  the  medical  certificate  isn't 
enough,  I  can  produce  a  certificate  from  the 
police.    Tell  them  to  give  me  the  money. 

Shipuchin  {sighs  heavily)  :   Ugh  ! 

T  ATI  AN  A  {to  Merchutkin)  :  My  dear  lady,  you've 
been  told  that  you  have  made  a  mistake.  What 
a  woman  you  are,  to  be  sure  ! 

Merchutkin  :  Beautiful  lady,  nobody  cares  about 
me.  I've  only  one  thing  left,  to  eat  and  drink, 
and  to-day  I  drank  my  coffee  without  any 
pleasure. 

Shipuchin  {feebly)  :  How  much  do  you  want  ? 

Merchutkin  :  Twenty-four  roubles,  thirty-six  ko- 
pecks. 


148  THE  JUBILEE 


Shipuchin  :  Very  well.  [Takes  twenty-five  roubles 
from  his  pocket-hook  and  gives  them  to  her.)  There's 
twenty-five  roubles  for  you.  Take  them  and — 
go  away  !     [Hirin  coughs  angrily.) 

Merchutkin  :  I  most  humbly  thank  you,  your 
excellency. 

Tatiana  (sits  beside  her  husband)  :  It's  time  for  me 
to  go  home.  {Looks  at  her  watch.)  But  I  haven't 
finished  yet  ;  111  finish  in  a  moment  and  go. 
What  do  you  think  happened  ?  What  do  you 
think  ?  Well,  in  the  evening  we  went  to  Berej- 
nit ski's.  It  wasn't  anything  particular  ;  it  was 
jolly,  but  not  specially.  Of  course,  Kate's 
admirer,  Grendelevski,  was  there.  I  spoke  to 
Kate,  and  cried,  and  persuaded  her,  and  in  the 
evening  she  had  an  explanation  with  Grendelevski 
and  refused  him.  WeU,  I  thought,  everything  is 
in  order,  things  couldn't  be  better  ;  I  had  quieted 
Mama,  saved  Kate,  and  now  I  could  be  easy. 
What  do  you  think  ?  Just  before  supper  we  were 
walking  with  Kate  in  the  avenue,  and  suddenly — 
(Rises) — suddenly  we  heard  a  shot  !  No  I  can't 
speak  about  it  in  cold  blood  !  {Fans  herself  with 
her  handkerchief.)    No,  I  can't  ! 

Shipuchin  {sighs)  :   Ugh  ! 


THE  JUBILEE  149 

Tatiana  [weeps)  :  We  ran  to  the  summer-house, 
and  there,  there  lay  poor  Grendelevski  with  a 
pistol  in  his  hand. 

Shipuchin  :  No,  I  can't  stand  it !  I  can't  stand  it ! 
[To  Merchutkin.)    What  do  you  want  now  ? 

Merchutkin  :  Your  excellency,  couldn't  my  hus- 
band take  up  his  old  post  again  ? 

Tatiana  [weeps)  :  He  had  shot  himself  right  by  the 
heart — ^just  there — Kate  fainted,  poor  girl,  and 
he  himself  was  terribly  frightened.  He  lay  there 
and — and  asked  us  to  send  for  a  doctor.  The 
doctor  soon  came  —  and  saved  the  unlucky 
fellow. 

Merchutkin  :  Your  excellency,  couldn't  my  hus- 
band take  up  his  old  post  again  ? 

Shipuchin  :  No,  I  can't  stand  it.  [Weeps.)  I  can't 
stand  it.  [Stretches  out  his  hands  to  Hirin  in 
despair.)    Drive  her  out !    Drive  her  out !  Please  ! 

Hirin  [advances  on  Tatiana)  :  Get  out  of  it ! 

Shipuchin  :  Not  her — ^that  one — ^that  awful  one — 
[Points  to  Merchutkin) — ^that  one 

Hirin  [misunderstands  ;  to  Tatiana)  :  Get  out  of  it ! 
[Stamps  his  feet.)    Go  away  ! 

Tatiana  :  What  ?  What's  the  matter  with  you  ? 
Have  you  gone  mad  ? 


150  THE  JUBILEE 


Shipuchin  :   This  is  awful !    Tm  a  miserable  man  ! 

Drive  her  out  1    Drive  her  out ! 
HiRiN  {to  Tatiana)  :   Out  of  it !    I'll  cripple  you ! 

ril  smash  you  !    I'll  commit  a  crime  ! 
Tatiana  {chased  by  Hirin)  :   How  dare  you  !    You 

impudent    man  !     Andrew  !      Help  !     Andrew  ! 

{Begins  to  scream.) 
Shipuchin  {running  after  them)  :    Stop  !     Please  ! 

Be  quiet  !    Have  mercy  on  me  ! 
Hirin  {chasing  Merchutkin)  :  Get  out  of  it  !    Catch 

her  !    Hit  her  !    Cut  her  up  ! 
Shipuchin  :   Stop  1    Please  !    I  beg  you  ! 
Merchutkin  :  Dear  lady  ;  oh,  dear  lady  !    {Begins 

to  scream.)    Dear  lady  ! 
Tatiana  :   Help  !    Help  !    Oh,  Oh  !    I  feel  ill !    I 

feel  ill !    {Jumps  on  a  chair,  then  drops  on  the  sofa 

and  moans.) 
Hirin  {chasing  Merchutkin)  :  Catch  her  !    Hit  her  ! 

Cut  her  up ! 
Merchutkin  :    Oh,  oh,  dear  lady !     It's  all  going 

dark.    Oh  !     {Falls  senseless  in  Shipuchin' s  arms. 

A  knock  at  the  door  and  a  voice  :  "  The  Deputa- 
tion.") 
Shipuchin  :     Deputation  —  reputation  —  occupa- 
tion  


THE  JUBILEE  151 

HiRiN  (stamping  his  feet)  :  Out  of  it !  Oh,  hell ! 
(Tucking  up  his  sleeves.)  Give  me  her !  I  can 
commit  a  crime.  (Enter  deputation  of  five  persons, 
all  in  frock-coats.  One  carries  a  velvet-hound 
address  and  another  the  cup.  The  rest  of  the  staff 
stand  at  the  door  of  the  office.  Tatiana  on  the  sofa, 
and  Merchutkin  in  Shipuchin's  arms,  both  groan 
softly.) 

A  Manager  (reads  loudly)  :  Esteemed  and  beloved 
Mr.  Shipuchin,  casting  a  retrospective  regard 
upon  the  past  of  our  financial  establishment  and 
turning  an  abstract  glance  upon  the  history  of  its 
gradual  development,  we  receive  in  the  highest 
degree  a  pleasurable  sensation.  It  is  true  that  in 
the  earliest  period  of  its  existence,  the  small 
dimensions  of  its  original  capital,  the  absence  of 
any  important  operations  and  the  general  in- 
definiteness  of  its  position  furnished  a  cause  for 
Hamlet's  question,  "  To  be  or  not  to  be,"  and  at 
one  moment  there  were  even  voices  which  advo- 
cated the  advantage  of  the  entire  closure  of  the 
bank.  Then  you  were  placed  at  the  head  of  the 
establishment !  Your  knowledge,  energy,  and 
innate  tact  have  been  the  cause  of  its  extra- 
ordinary   success    and    its    present    remarkably 


152  THE  JUBILEE 

flourishing  condition.  The  reputation  of  the 
bank — (Coughs) — the  reputation  of  the  bank 

Merchutkin  (groans)  :   Oh  !    Oh  ! 

Tatiana  :   Water,  water  ! 

Manager  (continues)  :  The  reputation — (Coughs) — 
the  reputation  of  the  bank  has  been  brought  by 
you  to  such  a  height  that  our  estabUshment  may 
to-day  well  rival  the  very  best  foreign  establish- 
ments  

Shipuchin  :  Deputation  —  reputation  —  occupa- 
tion— — 

Manager  (continues  in  confusion)  :  Casting  then  an 
objective  glance  upon  the  present,  we,  esteemed 
and  beloved  Mr.  Shipuchin — Perhaps  afterwards 
— Better  afterwards.    (Exit,  with  staff.) 

(Curtain) 


THE  BABYLONIAN  CAPTIVITY 
By   l6sYA    UKRAINKA 


CHARACTERS 

Eleazar  Captives 

Levites  Prophets 

Overseers 


THE   BABYLONIAN  CAPTIVITY 

(A  wide  plain.  The  red  sunset  turns  the  waters  of  the 
Euphrates  to  blood.  Scattered  on  the  plain  are  seen 
the  tents  of  the  Hebrew  captives.  Naked  children 
seek  shells  in  the  mud  and  gather  brushwood  for  the 
fires.  Weary  women,  mostly  old,  in  rags,  are 
busied  preparing  supper,  each  at  her  own  hearth, 
for  the  men  that  have  just  returned  from  the  town 
after  their  toil  and  are  sitting  silently  under  the 
willows  near  the  water.  A  little  farther  off,  also 
under  the  willows,  stand  two  groups,  the  Levites  and 
the  prophets.  On  the  willows,  over  the  prophets' 
heads,  harps  hang  ;  quivering  from  time  to  time, 
they  jingle  in  the  evening  wind.  Far  away  are  seen 
the  walls  and  towers  of  Babylon  and  sometimes 
there  comes  the  noise  of  the  city.) 

A  Woman  {at  her  fire)  :  Husband,  come  to  supper. 
{A  man,  still  young,  leaves  a  group  and  silently  sits 
down.) 

155 


156        THE  BABYLONIAN  CAPTIVITY 

Woman  :  Why  dost  not  eat  bread  ?  {The  man  is 
silent.)  Is  it  bitter  ?  There  is  nought  to  be  done, 
poor  thing,  thou  must  eat. 

The  Man  {mumbling  like  an  old  man) :  I  cannot 
eat. 

Woman  :  Misery  !    Hast  no  teeth  ?    Where 

Man  :  There  !    {Points  to  Babylon.) 

Woman  :  Misery,  misery,  misery  ! 

An  Old  Man  {approaches  an  old  woman  sitting  by 
the  extinguished  fire  of  another  hearth,  motionless, 
her  head  bowed  down)  :  Give  me  supper  !  {The 
woman  is  silent  and  motionless.)  Why  hast  not 
prepared  it  ?  {The  woman  is  silent.)  Why  hast 
ashes  on  thy  hair  ?  {The  woman  is  silent,  and 
bows  still  lower.)    Where  is  our  daughter  ? 

The  Old  Woman  :  There  !  {Points  to  Babylon  and 
pours  ashes  upon  her  head.) 

Old  Man  :  Adonai !  {Tears  his  garments  and  falls 
down.  At  a  third  fire  sit  only  men,  mostly  old.  A 
woman  approaches  timidly  ;  ragged  children  hang 
at  her  garments.) 

The  Woman  :  My  fathers,  pardon  that  I  ask  you  ; 
have  ye  not  seen  my  husband  ? 

An  Old  Man  :  How  is  he  called  ? 

The  Woman  :   Ebenezer  of  Ossia. 


THE  BABYLONIAN  CAPTIVITY        157 

Another  Old  Man  :  Was  he  so  called  before  thou 
wert  a  widow  ?      . 

The  Woman  :  What  sayest  thou  ? 

A  Third  Old  Man  :  Do  not  kill  thyself !  Foes  do 
not  torment  the  dead. 

The  Woman  :  What  shall  I  do,  miserable,  with  my 
little  children  ? 

The  Children  :  Mother,  mother,  mother  ! 

A  Mad  Woman  (wandering  among  the  fires)  :  Happy 
the  womb  that  did  not  bear  ;  happy  the  breast 
that  gave  not  suck.  Hey  !  rejoice  not,  Baby- 
lonian woman  !  Hey  !  be  not  glad,  mother  of 
vipers*  sons  ! 

A  Girl  (whispers  to  her  companion,  pointing  at  the 
mad  woman)  :  'Tis  from  the  time  her  child  was 
killed  in  Jerusalem. 

Companion  :   How  terrible  ! 

Girl  :  And  I  saw  it  with  my  own  eyes,  how  the 
soldier  seized  her  boy  by  his  feet  and  struck 
at 

Companion  :  Be  silent ! 

The  Levites  (under  the  willows)  :  For  our  fathers' 
sin  the  Lord  took  from  us  the  temple  ;  for  our 
ancestors*  dishonour  He  took  away  His  church. 


158       THE  BABYLONIAN  CAPTIVITY 

And  now,  as  a  spendthrift's  children,  innocent 
we  expiate  our  fathers'  debt. 

The  Prophets  :  Jerusalem  smote  us  with  stones, 
and  for  it  the  wrath  of  the  Lord  smote  her.  The 
*  daughter  of  Zion  despised  us,  and  for  it  the  son 
of  Baal  subdued  her. 

First  Levite  {to  another)  :  Why  hast  not  been  at 
prayers  ? 

Second  Levite  :  The  master  sent  me  to  the  reck- 
onings. The  workmen  from  Haram  are  being 
paid  for  their  labour  at  the  king's  palace. 

First  Levite  :  Couldst  not  find  one  of  the  scribes 
to  take  thy  place  ? 

Second  Levite  :  Service,  brother  !  The  master 
says  no  men  are  so  skilled  at  reckoning  as  the 
Hebrews. 

First  Levite  :  True. 

Second  Levite  (aside  to  him)  :  For  my  good  help 
the  chief  gave  me  this  ring. 

First  Levite  :  Glory  to  the  Lord,  that  He  hath 
distinguished  His  people  by  wisdom  above  the 
nations  of  all  the  world.  (Aside.)  Is  there  no 
need  of  another  to  help  ?     (They  whisper.) 

A  Samarian  Prophet  :  Thus  spake  the  Lord  :  On 
Garisim  I  have  builded  an  abode,  on  its  summit  I 


THE  BABYLONIAN  CAPTIVITY       159 

made  Mine  altar,  but  ye  forsook  it  and  knew  not 
the  house  of  My  glory,  as  the  foolish  bibbing  son 
knoweth  not  his  father's  abode  and  wandereth  in 
outer  darkness,  a  butt  for  strangers*  children. 

A  Jewish  Prophet  :  Thus  spake  the  Lord  :  In 
Jerusalem  I  made  Mine  abode  among  the  people, 
that,  as  bees  come  together  to  one  hive,  to  one 
queen,  so  would  ye  come  together  unto  Me,  to 
the  only  Temple  ;  but,  as  a  wild  swarm,  ye 
flew  away,  and  for  it  I  sent  evil  hornets  against 
you. 

Samarian  Prophet  :  The  lion  of  Judah  ravished 
Israel  and  dispersed  his  sheep. 

Jewish  Prophet  :  Saul's  descendants  are  fit  to  be 
keepers  of  flocks,  but  not  of  the  people. 

Samarian  Prophet  :  The  Lord  of  Israel  shall  reach 
thee,  and  through  me.  {Raises  his  staff  against 
the  Jewish  Prophet.) 

Jewish  Prophet  :  Lord,  remember  Thy  servant 
David.  (Raises  a  stone  to  cast  at  the  Samarian 
Prophet.  Eleazar,  a  young  prophet  and  singer, 
just  come  from  Babylon,  throws  himself  between  the 
two.) 

Eleazar  :  Refrain  !  Cover  not  with  shame  the 
names  of  Israel  and  Judah. 


i6o       THE  BABYLONIAN  CAPTIVITY 

Samarian  Prophet  :    Ah  !    is  it  thou,  prophet  of 
shame  ?    And  how  hast  thou  glorified  Israel  and 

Judah  ? 
Jewish  Prophet  :   Vile  serpent,  why  earnest  from 

that  nest  ?     There  is  thy  God  and  thy  people, 

begone  and  glorify  them  ! 
First  Levite  :  May  the  Lord  vomit  thee  out  of  His 

mouth,  may  thy  name  disappear  as  spittle  !    (The 

people  gather  round.) 
Second  Levite  (catching  a  harp  from  the  willows)  : 

1  will  break  this  cursed  vessel. 
Eleazar  {catching  his  hand)  :  Touch  not  my  harp, 

for  it  is  innocent  of  my  sins  !    Curse  me,  if  thou 

thinkest  I  am  worthy,  but  curse  not  the  holy 

harp. 
Third  Levite  :  And  how  has  it  sanctified  itself  ? 
Eleazar  :   That  never  from  the  first  rang  a  string 

insincerely. 
A  Boy  :  Aha  !    Therefore  thou  didst  hang  it  there. 
Eleazar  (to  the  Boy>  sadly) :    Why,  youth,  sayest 

thou  so  ? 
Boy  :  Pretend  not  thou  dost  not  understand  ! 
An  Old  Man  :  This  youth  told  thee,  Eleazar,  what 

thy  conscience  would  have  told  thee — but  a  mute 

cannot  speak. 


THE  BABYLONIAN  CAPTIVITY       i6i 

A  Man  :  And  it  is  a  vanity  to  talk  to  the  deaf.  (A 
child  stretches  out  its  arms  to  the  harp.) 

The  Child  :  Uncle,  give  me  the  toy. 

First  Mother  :  I  told  thee,  dare  not  to  come  to 
this  man. 

An  Old  Woman  {to  a  girl  standing  near)  :  I  see 
there  is  no  more  shame  in  Israel,  when  a  girl 
stands  uncovered  and  looks  upon  a  traitor. 

The  Girl  :  But  I 

First  Woman  :  See,  poor  thing,  it  is  a  great 
woe  when  one  cursed  by  God  steals  a  girl's 
heart. 

The  Girl  :  If  he  be  cursed,  I  also  curse  him.  (Veils 
herself  and  goes  away.) 

Eleazar  {to  all)  :  Fathers  and  brothers,  mothers 
and  sisters,  since  when  is  it  a  custom  among 
us  to  condemn  without  judging  ?  Truly,  clearly 
tell  me,  why  am  I  become  as  a  leper  among 
you  ? 

The  Old  Man  :  Thou  becamest  leprous  in  Baby- 
lon, singing  for  money  in  the  courts  to  the  sons  of 
Baal. 

Eleazar  :  Are  ye  not  all  gathered  here  in  Babylon 
for  labour  ? 

First  Man  :  Labourers  do  not  serve  Moloch. 

M 


i62       THE  BABYLONIAN  CAPTIVITY 

Eleazar  :  Whom  then  do  their  arms  and  vessels 
serve  ?  Have  they  not  built  such  an  abode  for 
Moloch,  as  never  had  our  Lord  in  Jerusalem  ? 

First  Prophet  :  Taunt  not  captives  with  their 
slavery  ! 

Eleazar  :  Am  I  not  a  captive  ?  Why  curse  ye  me 
for  my  forced  labour  ? 

Second  Prophet  :  The  cord,  the  spade,  the  plough 
and  axe  in  men's  hands  are  men's  slaves  ;  but  the 
word  in  a  prophet's  mouth  must  serve  God  only, 
and  none  other. 

The  Old  Man  :  Yet  wilt  thou  ask  for  judgment, 
Eleazar  ? 

Eleazar  :  I  will,  though  the  judgment  end  with 
stones.  The  Lord  liveth  !  Ye  must  judge  by 
truth  ;  an  unjust  curse  shall  turn  against  you. 

The  Old  Man  :  Let  us  hear  him.  Let  it  not  be  said 
we  forsook  truth  on  the  ruins  of  Jerusalem.  Tell 
us  what  constrained  thee  to  sell  the  word. 

Eleazar  :  That  none  bought  my  hands.  My  father 
did  not  teach  me  to  labour,  and  weak  my  mother 
bred  me.  Though  the  harp  obeys  my  hands, 
nor  plough  nor  axe  obeys  them.  I  fell  under  a 
burden,  and  the  overseer  drove  me  from  the 
labour. 


THE  BABYLONIAN  CAPTIVITY       163 

The  Old  Man  :    Let  then  thy  father  and  mother 

feed  thee,  who  have  not  taught  thee  to  earn 

bread. 
Eleazar  :    In  Jerusalem  I  earned  honourably  by 

the  means  they  taught  me,  and  here  too — but  the 

bread  burns  that  my  father  brings  from  Babylon  ; 

hard  it  is  to  eat  from  a  father's  slavery. 
First  Levite  :  Not  only  bread  thy  father  brings, 

but  also  golden  rings. 
Eleazar  {to  all) :  Teach  this  Levite  that  gold  burns, 

and  not  only  shines. 
First  Levite  (slyly)  :  Why  does  thy  father's  work 

bum  so  ? 
Eleazar  :  Am  I  judged  here  or  my  father  ?   Bring 

then  all  fathers  to  judgment,  that  for  their  family 

lose  their  souls. 
First  Levite  :  Why  didst  not  cry  to  the  nation  to 

feed   thee   with   the   bread  wherewith   it   feeds 

Levites  and  cripples  ? 
Eleazar  :  I  am  not  Levite  nor  cripple. 
A  Little  Boy  (to  his  father)  :    Daddy,  give  me 

bread  ! 
The  Father  :  I  have  none,  my  son. 
A  Man  :    Dost  see  ?    He  heard  talk  of  bread  and 

eating,  and  says  too,  ''Give  me  bread." 


i64       THE  BABYLONIAN  CAPTIVITY 

Eleazar  :  Rightly  says  the  boy.  He  answered  for 
me  better  than  I  could  know.  Ye  all  heard. 
While  in  Israel  they  speak  thus,  Eleazar  will  not 
share  bread  with  Levites  and  cripples.  He  that 
has  bread,  let  him  give  to  the  child  ;  I  will  take 
stones  from  the  captives.  He  that  has  fish,  let 
him  feed  the  children,  and  give  me  a  viper  that 
drinks  blood  from  the  heart.  I  shall  take  it 
and  bear  it  with  me  into  the  courts  ;  it  will  give 
sting  to  my  words  and  its  hissing  they  will  hear 
in  Babylon. 

A  Youth  :  Much  wilt  thou  earn  for  such  songs  in 
Babylon  !  Surely  less  than  thou  hast  earned  for 
the  hymns  of  Zion. 

Eleazar  :  Unwisely,  boy,  hast  spoken.  I  sang 
them  not  hymns  of  Zion.  The  hymn  of  Zion,  of 
all  songs  the  ornament,  was  as  a  bride  in  Jerusa- 
lem, as  a  wife  in  the  holy  city  ;  here  it  were  as 
a  concubine,  for  who  taketh  a  captive  as  a  lawful 
wife  ?  (The  people  sigh.  Eleazar  holds  his  peace 
and  hows  his  head.) 

A  Man  :  Why  didst  not  sing  the  songs  of  cap- 
tivity ?  Why  hast  not  poured  the  bitter  tears 
of  slavery  ?     The  cold  drop  pierces  the  stone. 


THE  BABYLONIAN  CAPTIVITY       165 

why  would  not  hot  tears  touch  even  the  wicked 
heart  ? 

Eleazar  :  The  Lord  set  pride  in  my  soul.  Never 
have  I  wept  before  strangers. 

A  Man  :   Pride  befits  not  slaves. 

First  Prophet  :  The  horn  of  pride  in  thee  rose 
above  grief  and  holy  love  ! 

Eleazar  :  Measure  not  the  measureless  with  the 
endless,  for  thou  wilt  not  see  what  will  come  of  it. 

A  Youth  :  Eloquent  is  Eleazar  among  the  cap- 
tives !  Why  in  the  Babylonian  courts  do  his 
love  and  grief  and  pride  hold  their  peace  ?  Surely 
the  place  is  too  smaU  ? 

Eleazar  :  And  didst  thou  think  it  were  enough  ? 
O  youth,  I  have  measured  all  those  Babylonian 
courts  and  know  their  size.  It  happened  I 
crossed  that  court  where  our  people  is  building 
a  tower  for  Moloch.  I  stopped  and  gazed  at  it. 
The  marble  is  white  as  bones  in  the  field,  the 
porphyry  grey  as  shed  blood,  the  gold  shines  as  a 
bright  fire.  It  stands  unfinished,  like  ruins  ;  the 
cries  of  our  conquerors  are  heard,  and  the  groans 
of  our  people.  I  know  not  how,  with  a  great 
voice  I  shouted  over  the  whole  place,  "  Jerusa- 
lem !  "    With  a  cry  answered  the  captives  from 


i66       THE  BABYLONIAN  CAPTIVITY 

the  wall,  and  with  laughter  answered  the  guards. 
"  Is  that  ruin  called  in  any  wise,  has  that  desert 
still  a  name  7  "  I  went  away  to  the  market  where 
they  sell  captives  into  slavery.  There  a  rich 
merchant  was  choosing  the  most  lovely  captives. 

Women  :   Misery,  misery,  misery  ! 

Eleazar  :  I  said,  "  Think,  lord,  these  girls  have 
fathers  and  brothers.  Were  thy  sister  or  daughter 
taken  captive,  would  the  foe  sell  her  ?  "  He 
answered,  "  Tis  the  fate  of  captives."  I  went 
farther  and  saw  a  small,  weak  slave,  and  a  tall, 
strong  Babylonian  loaded  him  with  wares,  as  a 
mule,  and  drove  him  with  a  stick.  I  cried, 
"  Stay  !  To  torment  such  a  small  boy  I"  "  For 
this  he  is  a  slave,'*  he  answered,  arrogant.  "  And 
were  thy  son  sold,"  said  I,  "he  too  would  be  a 
slave  ?  "  "  Surely  ;  not  otherwise,"  said  the 
rich  man,  and  laughed  aloud,  "  but  I  do  not  sell 
my  sons,  and  thine,  thou  seest,  I  buy."  Who, 
what  will  touch  such  hearts  ?  Once  only  with 
my  songs  I  got  a  tear  from  a  stranger  ;  the  king 
himself  wept  at  the  end  of  Saul  and  Jonathan's 
death. 

A  Voice  from  the  People  :  Long  live  the  merciful 
king  !    In  him  only  is  our  hope. 


THE  BABYLONIAN  CAPTIVITY       167 

Eleazar  :  The  merciful  king  wished  to  reward  me 
generously. 

First  Levite  :  What  gave  he  thee,  Eleazar  ? 

Eleazar  :  He  gave  me  a  chamber  in  his  palace  and 
Jewish  captives,  as  many  as  I  would.  From  that 
moment  I  cursed  the  songs  that  get  tears  from 
conquerors  ;  they  are  the  tears  of  the  Nile's 
crocodiles. 

The  Youth  :  Thou  shouldst  have  sung  them  of  the 
fame  of  our  ancestors,  that  they  might  know  the 
strength  of  our  people. 

Eleazar  :  I  sang. 

The  Youth  :  And  what  ?    (Eleazar  is  silent.) 

The  Old  Man  :  Say,  Eleazar,  how  the  strangers 
heard  the  songs  of  fame. 

Eleazar  (slowly)  :  One  of  them  whistled  and, 
smiling,  shook  his  head.  Another  said,  "  Not  all 
that  is  true."  A  third  bade  me  join  the  military 
singers ;  and  all,  one  after  the  other,  said,  *'  Is 
there  only  that  in  the  world  which  is  in  Jerusa- 
lem ?  Knowest  thou  no  songs  of  Edom,  of 
Misraim  ?  Was  not  the  fame  of  Amalek,  Ammon 
and  Amareus  as  the  past  fame  of  Israel  ?  " 

First  Prophet  :  O  Lord,  chastise  the  hostile  lips 
with  the  dumbness  of  death. 


i68       THE  BABYLONIAN  CAPTIVITY 

Eleazar  :  I  began  to  sing  them  of  Edom,  of  Mis- 
raim,  of  foreign  speeches  in  a  foreign  speech. 
They  heard  how  treacherous  Edom's  crooked 
sword  broke  against  Ashur's  armour ;  how 
Amalek,  Ammon  and  Amareus  from  ravishers 
became  slaves  ;  how  Misraim,  master  of  half  the 
world,  once  the  lord  of  the  tribes  of  Israel,  had 
to  submit  to  the  eternal  might  ;  how  horse  and 
rider  fell  into  the  sea,  and  all  the  Pharaoh's 
might,  whenas  was  voided  the  abhorred  house  of 
toil  and  the  cursed  place  of  slavery  was  devas- 
tated. 

The  Youth  :  And  what  did  the  listeners  ? 

Eleazar  :   There  were  those  who  paled. 

Second  Prophet  :  May  they  grow  pale  and  cold 
for  ever  ! 

The  Youth  :  Why  didst  not  say  that  also  for  these 
will  come  a  day  of  judgment  ? 

Eleazar  :  For  that  word  there  is  no  room  in  Baby- 
lon !  To-day  I  sang  them  of  Ophir,  Sidon  and 
Tyre,  their  power  and  wisdom  and  treasures,  as 
are  not  and  never  will  be  in  the  Babylonian 
treasuries. 

First  Levite  :  Didst  gain  much  for  this  song  ? 


THE  BABYLONIAN  CAPTIVITY       169 

Eleazar  :  Thinkest,  the  treasures  of  Canaan  ?  See, 
I  have  bread  for  this  day's  supper. 

The  Youth  :  Surely,  for  songs  that  praised  Baby- 
lon's power  thou  hast  earned  more  than  one 
golden  ring  ? 

Eleazar  :  The  vile  speaks  only  with  poison,  but 
poison  hurts  not  every  man.  When  heardest 
me  sing  songs  of  the  Babylonian  glory  and 
might  ?  [The  youth  is  silent  and  ashamed.)  Thou 
hast  judged  thyself  by  thy  silence. 

The  Old  Man  :  Eleazar,  it  may  be  thy  songs  are 
good  in  Babylon,  but  Misraim  and  Edom  and  all 
their  tongues  will  not  bring  Palestine  to  mind  and 
awake  the  thought  of  Jerusalem. 

Eleazar  :  Is  there  already  need  to  bring  it  to  our 
minds  ? 

The  Old  Man  :  Not  to  us,  but  to  those  that  among 
foes  have  used  to  speak  the  foreign  speech 

Eleazar  :  How  will  they  understand  the  inborn 
song  ?    How  sing  it  in  a  foreign  speech  ? 

The  Old  Man  :  With  thy  foreign  words  thou  wilt 
forget  to  say,  "  Jerusalem  !  "  [Eleazar  stands 
thoughtfully.    His  hand  begins  to  touch  the  strings 

.    of  his  harp,  and  his  voice  sounds,  neither  singing, 

.   nor  wailing,  as  of  one  who  sleeps.)  , 


170       THE  BABYLONIAN  CAPTIVITY 

Eleazar  :  My  right  hand  was  strong  ;  who  could 
overcome  it  ?  Did  I  then  say  to  myself :  "  Happy 
am  I  ;  I  have  my  right  arm  "  ?  Spake  I  ever 
thus :  "  Right  arm,  know  thou  art  mine !  " 
But  the  evil  foe  wounded  my  hand  and  cut  off 
my  right  arm.  Whom  shall  I  overcome  now  ? 
Who  will  not  overcome  me  ?  Day  and  night  I 
say  to  myself,  **  O  misery,  where  is  my  hand  ?  "  I 
look  upon  my  shoulder  and  weep,  "  Right  arm, 
how  forget  thee  ?  "  (He  quietly  touches  the  strings. 
The  people  weep.) 

My  father  had  a  rich  vineyard,  my  mother  a 
green  garden.  I  walked  in  it,  plucked  the  berries 
and  trampled  the  leaves  with  my  feet.  An  evil 
neighbour  set  fire  to  oiu:  vineyard  and  wasted  the 
green  garden.  The  vine  was  burned,  the  berries 
dropped  and  its  glorious  beauty  fell  to  ashes.  If 
I  find  beneath  my  feet,  be  it  only  one  leaf,  I  shall 
press  it  to  my  heart.  Dear  brothers,  say,  has 
none  of  you,  be  it  only  one  leaf  from  my  vine  ? 
(The  strings  sound  still  more  sadly,  and  the  weeping 
becomes  louder.) 

I  dreamed  a  dread  dream — ^who  shall  divine  it  ? 
Twas  as  if  I  fell  into  the  hands  of  the  enemies. 
What  have  they  done  to  me,  my  terrible  enemies  ? 


THE  BABYLONIAN  CAPTIVITY       171 

My  arms  still  are  mighty,  my  legs  still  are  strong, 
my  eyes  still  are  clear,  and  my  body  is  not  hurt. 
Only  my  tongue,  my  tongue  was  for  their  ven- 
geance. I  wished  to  speak  a  word  ;  I  wished  to 
lift  up  my  voice.  But  my  lips  spake  with  blood 
and  cried  with  silence.  (A  long  pause.  The  harp 
falls  from  Eleazar's  hands  and  the  sigh  of  its  strings 
dies  away.  The  people's  cries  cease  abruptly. 
Silence.  He  speaks  with  respect,  hut  firmly  and 
distinctly.)  Fathers  and  brothers,  mothers  and 
sisters  !  I  wait  for  a  stone  or  a  word  from  you. 
(Silence.)    What  curse  is  more  awful  than  silence  ? 

The  Old  Man  :   We  do  not  curse  thee,  Eleazar. 

The  Youth  :   Forgive  me  my  hard  word,  brother. 

Eleazar  :  Ye  do  not  curse  me.  I  forgive  all  your 
words.  But  still  I  am  cursed  with  the  dreadful 
curse  of  blood.  The  blood  of  our  fathers,  shed  in 
vain  for  our  lost  liberty,  weighs  upon  my  head 
and  yours,  and  bows  down  our  forehead  to  the 
earth,  to  the  stone  that  the  hand  of  my  people 
hurled  not  against  me.  A  man's  son  fell  and  cut 
himself  on  a  sharp  stone  ;  in  despair  he  rent  his 
garments  of  honour  and  strewed  ashes  of  dis- 
grace upon  his  head.  O,  as  the  temple  I  fell,  as 
Jerusalem  we  fell  all,  and,  as  hard  as  it  is  to 


172       THE  BABYLONIAN  CAPTIVITY 

rebuild  our  temple,  so  hard  it  is  for  us  to  rise 
out  of  the  dust  of  slavery's  dishonour.  Shame 
fell  upon  our  arms  that  rose  not  to  take  the  lives 
of  us  conquered,  but  rose  to  labour  for  the 
enemies.  Leprosy  covered  the  bodies  of  the  girls 
of  Zion,  that  they  drowned  not  themselves  in  the 
Euphrates,  but  went  to  entertain  the  sons  of 
lasciviousness  and  nurse  the  fruit  of  their  shame. 
And  shame  covered  my  lips  that  from  hunger 
these  lips  grew  not  still,  but  spake  the  strange 
speech  in  those  cursed  courts  where  all  songs 
sound — and  only  that  which  bursts  from  the 
heart  must  die.  Infamy  oppresses  us  worse 
than  chains,  it  bites  worse  than  iron  fetters.  To 
suffer  chains  is  inhuman  shame,  to  forget  them 
unbroken  yet  greater  ignominy.  Two  paths  we 
have,  death  or  disgrace,  till  we  find  a  way  to 
Jerusalem.  Brothers,  let  us  look  for  a  way  to 
the  temple  as  the  gazelle  seeks  water  in  the 
desert,  that  the  mighty  foe  may  not  say,  "  Now 
have  I  slain  Israel ;  it  is  dead  !  '*  And  ere  we 
find  it,  let  us  fight  for  our  life  as  the  woujided 
badger  in  the  hunt  ;  let  it  not  be  said  among  men, 
"  The  Lord  of  Israel  feU  asleep  in  Heaven."  O 
Babylon,  too  early  is  it  to  rejoice  !     Still  our 


THE  BABYLONIAN  CAPTIVITY       173 

harps  sound  among  the  willows,  still  tears  flow 
into  the  Babylonian  rivers,  still  the  daughter 
of  Zion  burns  with  shame,  still  the  lion  of  Judah 
roars  with  fury.  The  Lord  liveth,  my  soul  liveth, 
Israel  liveth,  even  in  Babylon  ! 
The  Voice  of  an  Overseer  from  the  Camp  :  To 
the  tents,  Israel ;  the  night  cometh.  {The  people 
separate  and  go  to  their  tents.  On  the  distant 
towers  are  seen  the  Babylonian  magicians,  fore- 
telling from  the  stars.  The  camp  grows  still.  From 
Babylon  faintly  comes  the  sound  of  revels.  The 
solemn  night  trembles  over  the  captive  camp  and 
Babylon.  Here  and  there  quicken  the  overseers* 
fires.    Silence.) 

(Curtain) 


PRINTED  BY 
WILLIAM   BRENDON   AND  SON, 
PLYMOUTH,   ENGLAND 


14  DAY  USE 

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U.C.BERKELEY  LIBRARIES 

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THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  UBRARY 


